The Dumb Smile of the Knowing
by Maydn
Summary: Smoker is not happy about the highly confidential orders to bring a captured Whitebeard Second Division Commander to Impel Down. Shady deals are openly hidden and his darn sense of justice tingles uncomfortably... Smoker/Ace.
1. The Second Encounter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own One Piece or its characters.

**Beta:** Big THANK YOU again, dear xanthos!

**Warnings:** SLASH (two male characters will be in a romantic relationship together). Further warnings will appear chapterwise, I'm sorry that I can't tell yet whether the rating might go up later on.

**Pairing:** Smoker/Ace

**Spoilers:** Story begins after Manga chapter 441 / Anime episode 325 (Ace-BB-fight), storyline from then on will differ from canon. Expect still spoilers to appear, if you're not familiar with the Blackbeard / Impel Down situation.

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**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 1 – The Second Encounter**

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The second encounter of Fire Fist Ace and Smoker, the White Hunter, had to be as surprising and unpleasant for the pirate as their first encounter had been for the Marine.

That was what Commodore Smoker thought upon entering the brig of the Marine ship where the captured and heavily wounded pirate was kept - even though an infirmary might have been a bit more humane in this case.

The small barred window, located on the right side, near the door, only a few inches under the low ceiling, was far away from the last cell on the left side. The few rays of sunlight that made it into the cell area were almost completely swallowed by the cold, dark material that covered the walls.

Seastone tiles were not more expensive than gold because they were beautiful decoration, the Marine felt himself reminded, they were an awful passive weapon and awfully effective as well.

The stones radiated discomfort to every Devil Fruit user.

Smoker could imagine how unpleasant it must be to sit on them, leaning ones back against them and all the while not being able to see the sun.

Yet he didn't really mind that kind of treatment, since pirates _were _scum. Although Smoker himself would have followed the official procedures of handling wounded captives until the final sentence was spoken, he still couldn't manage to feel sorry for the current situation of the infamous criminal in front of him.

Lumped together in the corner of the surprisingly huge looking cell, the youth was nothing but an unsightly bloody mass, arms and legs enchained in seastone cuffs as well, appearing already ghostly while still at least a bit alive. If there wasn't the regular breathing that - although it sounded unnatural - was still there, Smoker might have doubted the fact.

The Marine observed 'his' captive, fully aware that he wasn't the one to capture him, who, with his head hanging low over the chest and certainly painfully close to the cuffs on his arms and stickily bloodied strands of black hair hiding his face, was still supposed to be one of the most dangerous pirates of the Grand Line.

Looking at him now, Smoker had to correct his first thoughts, because the brat wasn't likely to realize the situation he was in yet, let alone recognize the person in front of him as an opponent he had fought (and mocked) before -- _if_ he was even conscious at all.

Looking at the wrecked body, thinking of _who_ that was or rather whose direct subordinate and the significance of that capture, a very small sigh threatened to built up inside the Commodore, one that never made its way from a sheer feeling in the stomach region to some kind of audible sound, simply because Smoker wasn't one to let his thoughts slip so easily. But really, _if_ he survived, that damned little shit was clearly on his way to be causing even more trouble than his idiot brother had managed so far. He briefly wondered whether the brat had the brains to understand that.

The job to bring the captive to Impel Down wasn't anything Smoker had enjoyed doing.

The pirate was already captured, beaten up so badly that he couldn't possibly be a threat to anyone and secured so heavily that his fragile health was undoubtedly in more danger than any passenger on the ship. Why – under these circumstances - a Commodore and an Admiral were considered necessary to escort that half-dead body to prison, was beyond Smoker.

The only real threat was the man dying before getting sentenced and punished. Still, the direct order from the Fleet Admiral had forced him to pause on his search for the Strawhat crew and to conduct this ridiculous job as a glorified warden.

Even worse, Sengoku hadn't told him any details, and Smoker had few doubts that whenever he didn't get information because it was supposedly "highly confidential" that usually meant the involvement of some rather shady deals. This time though, the secrecy carried another significance for him as well.

Smoker certainly wouldn't have to deal with the wrath of the mighty Whitebeard, an admittedly troublesome opponent, but it also meant that Strawhat wouldn't know, hence wouldn't come.

And _this_ had been the only way Commodore Smoker had ever been interested in Portgas D. Ace - as some connection to the _highly_ interesting little idiot rubber boy with the blurry, insane aura of change and history about him.

While Smoker had first wondered back there in Arabasta how the strong Whitebeard pirate could possibly be related to the weak idiot with the Strawhat, he now looked at the broken body and just couldn't see how this was the elder brother of the boy who had declared war on the World Government. The boy who had marched into Enies Lobby, who had defeated the Shichibukai Crocodile and, perhaps even unwillingly, saved a whole kingdom.

"You can wait there till you die of old age, damn Marine, won't tell you a thing. Forget it," came a low hiss from the corner where the lump of flesh was located. Smoker looked again, surprised at the clarity of the statement and perhaps just a little impressed that the pirate hadn't drifted into blissful unconsciousness.

"Here I thought you were sleeping peacefully", he growled back, "Portgas D. Ace."

The way his name was spat out like the cow manure Smoker took every filthy pirate for, must have somehow managed to trigger a memory in the one right before him. The youth still hadn't looked his way, quite possibly didn't even have the strength left to raise his head enough to do so, but he still must have recognized him.

"Smoker?" He asked, tone changed and sounding dangerously close to nice, at least in comparison to his first words. "Seems you got the wrong brother."

And Smoker would be damned if he hadn't heard a small chuckle following. He certainly didn't like the way the brat was talking to him, like some old family acquaintance, someone to make a funny joke with.

"Correct. I'm not interested in you, just giving you a ride to Impel Down."

"Change of cabin personal or did they think Aokiji wasn't enough? I must look really fearsome, I guess."

Smoker wondered why he knew that the way the pirate giggled while saying those last bits was just an act, but he was sure the youth wasn't nearly as tough about this as he behaved.

"Yeah right. This job isn't even cut out for a rookie Marine. From the looks of it, this needs an undertaker."

Upon hearing the pirate chuckle, Smoker turned to leave the brig. He would send a doctor for Portgas right now, decided the man wasn't allowed to take the easy way out.

Not on his ship and not before hearing his sentence.

xxxxx

"Captain Smoker," Tashigi called from behind the wooden door. Sometimes she forgot to knock first and then her voice managed to enter his space without forewarning, and he felt like she had somehow managed to stumble directly into his head. The woman could really be a klutz, but she was a good Marine and had a sense of true justice, this was enough for him.

"Come in, Tashigi."

The swordswoman entered the small room, waving with her hands before her face, indicating she didn't like the amount of smoke in the air, and Smoker shortly wondered if he had become insensitive when it came to his Logia. Wasn't the air rather clear? He had only smoked six cigars since he had come back from the brig . . .

"So, what does Doctor Shalaton say?" He asked while using his Devil Fruit ability to take in the lingering smoke from his surroundings.

"You want the full report?" Tashigi's voice was filled with sense of duty, but also enriched with the expected certainty of knowing his answer. Smoker liked that about her.

"No. Write the medical crap in the report. I just want to be sure he'll make it."

"Well. . . probably."

"What do you mean?"

"Doctor Shalaton said Portgas' body has taken a lot of damage --"

"I could see that myself . . . and I'm not interested in praises of the pirate's strength and willpower. I want facts."

"Sir? I wasn't going to --"

"Just tell me."

"The main problem is the seastone. The doctor said Portgas won't heal unless he's freed of the direct seastone contact. He suggested treatment in the seastone walled cell by removing the cuffs. And with that, most wounds might heal. Actually, Captain, he wanted to talk to you about the pirate."

"I don't have time for that. And I also don't know shit about the medical stuff. You told him?"

Tashigi nodded dutifully but obviously the topic wasn't finished just yet. "It seems there are some wounds that he doesn't fully understand and some completely unknown and unexplainable symptoms. That's why he was extremely interested in the cause of Portgas' injuries--"

Smoker snarled, dark and low, about to keep his opinion to himself, but with Tashigi he could be honest. "I would be interested in that piece of information as well . . . and those bits of information make it even more interesting," he finally hissed between narrowed teeth.

"Captain, I would suggest--", her big, imploring, eyes looked for and found Smoker's grumpy nod to continue, "—you ask the captive. Since it's _him_. . . I don't think he would lie."

The Commodore didn't like the way Tashigi had worded this, but probably only because he knew she was right. Unfortunately they _did_ have a good idea about the captured pirate's personality and while he was cocky, fearless, and troublesome, he wasn't exactly shifty or crooked.

Smoker knew this was the simplest way, had actually known before and had somehow still avoided thinking in that direction.

While he just nodded now, silently accepting Tashigi's suggestion, he wondered why he had not wanted to talk about this with the pirate before. Was it that he actually dreaded the information he might get?

Everything in his stomach shouted that there was something underhanded about this, something that might defy his sense of justice and he simply wasn't in the mood for that so soon again.

The events in Arabasta were still so very fresh in his memory.

After Tashigi had left, Smoker decided that a new pair of cigars would be the right thing now, just like any time before or after struggling with the pirate. Because, while he knew Portgas would tell him the truth, he also knew there was no way, that pirate would simply consent and start talking facts without being annoying.

Thinking about him and his idiot brother, there was something else he had to consider as well . . .

Starting with the first of the three drawers on the huge wooden desk's right side, he searched through all of them, this wasn't his ship and so he didn't know where all the material was stored, until he finally found a bloc of sticky notes in the bottom one, picked up a pen and wrote down the reminder, "PREPARE FOOD", before he leaned back in the old, creaking chair, legs with boots planted on the desk, and tried to drift off for a small, hopefully relaxing, catnap.

It was actually rather scary that he could picture the pirate's reaction, and that he just _knew_ the damned brat would try to trade the information for something better to eat, and very possibly wouldn't start talking at all until his stomach was filled with a very good and very large meal.

Putting aside the Commandment of Whitebeard's Second Division, Portgas was still just a very simpleminded criminal youth.

(tbc)


	2. Shades and Shadows

A big thank you to my beta xanthos for all her help with this chapter!

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**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 2 – Shades and Shadows**

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Smoker woke up again, realizing it wasn't exactly a catnap when a few hours had passed already. While it was still late afternoon, it probably wouldn't be long until nightfall.

Inhaling the rich cigar smoke that still lingered in the room, he took a quick glance at the note he had written before and decided to give the task of making the ship's cook prepare a ton of food that could be digested by a half-dead pirate to Tashigi. The Lieutenant enjoyed his trust with the 'special' tasks Smoker sometimes gave her and she surely would spare him the annoying perplexed look he would get from anybody else for requesting something like this.

When he entered the brig for the second time that day, it was already notably darker in there than in the other parts of the ship where bigger windows granted the sun highly welcomed access. The light set the mood for what he was about to do he thought bitterly: _asking_ Portgas D. Ace, of all people, for helpful information on his own capture.

Stomping forward quickly, he approached the last cell.

The air inside felt cooler and humidity crept into his lungs, heavy, almost suffocating. The light on his back faded as he walked towards what seemed to be the darkest corner of the uncomfortable room.

Reaching the bars of the cell containing the captive, the Commodore cast a last glance at the still heavily chained ghost of a pirate. Deciding there really was nothing left to pose a threat he opened the door to the holding cell with one quick turn of the key that he had previously – through a pretty bothersome amount of paperwork – acquired.

Moving closer to the inanimate body Smoker got a better impression of the state the captive was still in, even after Shalaton had done some quick clean-up and bandaging. He observantly eyed the figure that cowered rather ungracefully in the corner, back pressed against the tiled wall. The pirate's long legs were drawn close, knees leaning against the other wall for support, the position obviously resulting from the narrow cuffs on his ankles. His restrained arms were lying in his lap, the short dirty chain connecting to the other pair of cuffs almost completely taut, while the raven-haired head, now clean from blood, still hung low enough to hide his face.

No wonder, Smoker realized, that the doctor had opposed the cuffs for further healing. Even if they weren't made of draining seastone, the unnatural posture they forced upon the captive couldn't be healthy for someone with possibly broken bones and internal injuries. Although he didn't really know what kind of injuries the pirate had suffered, since he had been successful in avoiding the report so far.

Portgas was a tough looking guy, cocky to the last breath.

The Marine had been tempted to let him stay as close to death as possible without him actually dying. But, perhaps, he now pondered, he should allow the cuffs to be removed since he wasn't sure how to determine _when_ exactly the captive would be at his limit.

The pirate was dressed the same as when Smoker had last seen him, wearing only the tattered dark shorts, no shirt and a red pearl necklace slung around the neck. But most of the usually naked parts of his body were now wrapped in bands of white linen. No more a ghost, now a mummy the Marine smirked.

On second thought, there actually was something missing.

Not knowing how to start the conversation anyway, he just asked, "What happened to that ridiculous hat of yours?"

Portgas didn't bother – or couldn't, Smoker still didn't know – raising his head or looking his way, but he was, as expected, awake and answered rather dryly.

"Got taken."

Oh just great, the Commodore thought, start with a petty small-talk question and already he hit the jackpot. Perhaps it was better that way. Watching his words carefully, beating around the bush, that really wasn't his style.

"So you lost a fight, Portgas?" He said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Unfortunately, the pirate seemed to have gotten the right idea and murmured with an almost playful voice, "You really want to know, eh, Smoker?" He paused before adding, clearly enjoying what he had to say, "Figures they wouldn't tell someone like you that kind of stuff."

Smoker didn't see – but could definitely hear – the smirk that followed.

The Marine raised an eyebrow, "Someone like me?"

"Yeah, you know . . . someone with ideals printed on his back."

"And what do you think you know about my ideals, pirate?"

"Nothing of course, Com-mo-do-re." And the obnoxious troublemaker had made sure to emphasize the last word thoroughly, all too obviously playing at the way the Marine had gained his new rank. But the oh-so- sweetly voiced banter was only met with a shrug, if he thought this would make a difference, the brat was mistaken; Smoker could control his temper well enough – at least when confronted with scum that wasn't worth the energy.

"So, what's 'that kind of stuff', Portgas?"

As expected, and Smoker still wondered how the hell he could predict that pirate so well, a thoughtful answer came in a voice a bit lower now, even less playful than before, "I might tell you a bit, for a favor in return."

Now they were in the territory the Marine had aimed for. All that was left was to make sure the pirate wouldn't get the wrong idea about this . . . negotiation. When Smoker clarified his terms, he was met by surprisingly no objection or tries to bargain further. Perhaps Portgas had a basic understanding of the situation after all?

"You know I won't let you go."

"I know."

"I won't give you another cell or room out of the brig either."

"I know."

"I also won't stop chasing your brother."

A small sigh was audible, but then Smoker got the same answer as before, "I know."

Time to cut the real deal, the Marine decided. His plan in mind, he asked with feigned curiosity. "Then, what do you want?"

Unexpectedly, the pirate now raised his head and a freckled face, tired looking with all those ugly cuts and bruises but decorated with a smug smile, looked at Smoker when he answered, "Che. I really thought you already knew." And as if to participate in the discussion, a loud growl, undoubtedly originating from Portgas' stomach interrupted the silence.

"Fine, you'll get your meal," the Marine snarled annoyed after a moment of hesitation. Truthfully, he was not really as angry with the pirate as he was with himself for actually doing this, even if it was only about food. "So start talking. Now."

The youth seemed to scan Smoker's face for some kind of information before he talked. "What do you want to know, exactly?"

Unnerved already, as the brat had obviously understood _damn well_ what he was after, he threw out grumpily, "Who the hell beat you up like this, Portgas, and why, of course!"

He tried to overlook how the pirate's bruised fingers clenched, knuckles turning white, and ignored especially how on the right hand the skin was ripped enough to partly expose bloodied bones underneath the unsightly flesh.

"Name's Teach, Marshall D. Teach," he then was told by a frozen voice, vibrating with anger, and something else the Marine couldn't quite interpret.

Smoker noticed a feeling akin to disappointment tickle in the back of his mind, but threw it off, knowing the man in front of him wouldn't be defeated and certainly not beaten half-dead by a completely uninteresting nobody.

"You'll tell me who that is?" He ordered more than asked.

There was heated glare coming from the pirate, dangerously dark eyes, black pupils huge in the darkness. It reminded Smoker of the powers their owner would normally possess.

"You really haven't heard of him yet?" Portgas abruptly asked, his voice slowly adapting to the anger his stare already held.

"I was chasing after him for a while, you know. And the islands he and his so called crew had _visited_—", Portgas spat hatefully, hesitating, "Well, I cursed every time anew that I'd missed him again—" he breathed deeply, slowed down, and his tone changed from aggressive back to playful yet not amused bitter sarcasm, "—and the fucking Marine Mister all for _Justice_ doesn't even know his name, now how funny is that!"

Before giving the brat the satisfaction of having rendered him speechless, Smoker quickly countered, "There's way too much pirate scum out there for me to know all of their names."

"Yeah, right. Guess you'd have to pick out some from the puddle, huh?" Portgas bit back acidly, "Really bad people like my kid brother and his crew who dared to earn you a promo—"

The sentence full of accusing undertone was immediately cut off when Smoker's hard, strong fist connected brutally to the pirate's jaw. He realized too late that the bone must already have taken a lot of damage beforehand, as his efforts were now rewarded with a dangerously noisy snapping sound.

Portgas coughed, and started spitting rather large drops of thick, red blood, but other than that didn't react.

His gaze piercing through Smoker, bearing a strange mix of shock, disappointment and understanding, the pirate finally spoke, voice low and wary, obviously fighting the pain this must bring him now. "You really shouldn't do this when you want me to _talk_ . . ."

"Hmph." He had regretted the punch the second his fist had touched the pirate's wounded skin. Not because he cared whether he injured the captive further but because it was unnerving that the half-dead boy had made him that furious with just a few words.

Smoker felt the sudden need for two big cigars in his mouth – the almost nutritious taste, the rich, calming scent – and wondered how he had even managed so long without them. He immediately grabbed at the front of his coat where he had lined up the grey little assets to quench his desire.

After lighting his cigars with the very lighter he wasn't supposed to bring even into arms length of the brig - the brat would probably chuckle happily if he knew how much he was feared, or rather overestimated - he inhaled deeply and when he looked back to Portgas, the boy's head hung low again. To find out what was up now, he didn't need to take a closer look, since the pirate was unmistakably, disturbingly peacefully, snoring.

Smoker stood up again.

He didn't even remember when he had sat down on the tiles that also suppressed his Devil Fruit power and took his leave, sure to come back after Tashigi had provided the sleeping pirate with a large amount of food.

While closing the cell door, he blinked irritated once more as the snores became a bit louder and he remembered briefly the first time he had met the brat. It was in that Arabasta tavern where all the other guests had been highly alarmed by a supposedly 'dead' man, who turned out to be a lone Whitebeard pirate sleeping with the fork in his hand, face in his food.

"Narcolepsy, eh?" The Marine muttered to himself while leaving.

xxxxx

Smoker was leaning against the railing, watching the sun setting the sky aflame and washing the wide blue over with different shades of red and violet and tinting even the water below, and he hated it.

Irregular small tapping footsteps came closer, the unmistakable sound of Tashigi stumbling his way, forced him to mentally prepare for her falling in right beside him, against him or even dangerously low against the rail. Truth be told, the thought that the clumsy Lieutenant at least wasn't a hammer had always been calming to Smoker.

The worst didn't happen though when the swordswoman stopped a few steps behind him and addressed him in the comfortably familiar manner, using his old title, "Captain Smoker."

He turned to face his subordinate, his back now pressed against the warm metal behind as he nodded, suggesting her to speak freely.

"I've brought the food to the pirate, but . . ." she paused, obviously thinking about her choice of words, "he ate it all . . . and . . . he demanded much more . . . in case . . . you want to extract more precise information."

Smoker had a good idea that it had taken Tashigi quite an effort to rephrase Portgas' exact wording into this nice sentence, but chose not to comment on that.

"Just bring it to him."

"But, Sir, wouldn't it be better to speak with him in the meantime?"

The Commodore had thought about that as well and had decided that the experience of 'talking' more with the pirate was something he could 'enjoy' tomorrow. They'd have at least a few more days of travelling together, so there was no rush.

And it wasn't like Portgas, annoying brat or not, would back from his word once he'd gotten a satisfyingly full stomach.

"It's getting too dark down there," he simply said, knowing that Tashigi would understand what he really meant.

The small woman adjusted her glasses and, as if they hadn't talked about something else before, started a new topic. "Sir, we received a call from Admiral Aokiji."

"Did he decide to finally delight us with his presence again? Where the hell did he go off to with that bike anyway, in the middle of the goddamn ocean?"

"He was still bicycling when he called from his Baby Den Den Mushi. He suggested meeting up at Selva Island in two days."

Smoker briefly thought about this.

Selva was a middle-sized Fall Island, located a day or two – depending on the weather – before the Calm Belt, and they hadn't originally planned to port any populated island before delivering the captured pirate to prison. Since nobody knew of his capture, there was no threat of any attempted breakouts, but there had also not been a reason to take any risks.

He knew, from experience, that a free roaming healthy Portgas D. Ace wouldn't ever be close enough to be easily captured again even if Aokiji felt like helping. In fact, he had no idea how that Teach guy had done the job.

As if she had understood his thoughts, Tashigi suddenly added, "Well . . . we probably need to restock our food reserves considering the captive ate a quarter of our rations already —"

Smoker glanced at her, analyzing and slowly getting the picture, until he hissed, "Let me guess, he said that he isn't even close to satisfied?"

"Yes, Sir, but this could also be some underhanded tactic of his," Tashigi suggested then, although the Commodore could hear in her voice that she hadn't even considered that possibility herself. It was more an idea of what they both _should_ expect a pirate to do rather than what fit into their impression of the D. brothers.

"I promised him a huge meal and if he can stomach that much, he'll get that much. He may be a damn pirate but that's no reason to go back on my word." Suddenly the realization dawned on the Commodore that he hadn't shared the bit of information he had gotten already with his trusted subordinate, and he added, "and he already gave me a name."

Irritated Smoker noticed Tashigi's nod and an understanding face that she definitely wasn't supposed to make right there, before she, to his further surprise, whispered, "Right, Blackbeard—"

"What?!" The angered reaction had escaped Smoker's mouth faster than the realization that he was angry with Portgas and not the one he had thrown it at.

Why hadn't that idiot brat told him that name as well? Blackbeard. A rookie name he _had_ indeed already heard while on Strawhat's trail . . .

"We talked a bit when I brought him the food," Tashigi tried to explain herself, as she obviously thought Smoker was angry about her knowledge.

"Thought so," he muttered while his mind drifted off to the newfound name, gathering what he knew about him.

A rookie pirate captain and someone without even a bounty, as far as the last stack of Wanted posters had told, with a very small crew and acting rather low profile way considering plundering and murdering was perverted everyday business for pirates. The Marine shoved aside the uncomfortable memory that wanted to show him Portgas' angry face again with the reminder that a stupid brat having fucking _Whitebeard_'s mark branded all over his back couldn't possibly understand his _justice_.

"Sir?" Tashigi disrupted his thoughts again, "How are we supposed to answer Admiral Aokiji?"

"We'll meet on Selva in two days time then." A normal Commodore isn't supposed to object an Admiral's decision anyway, Smoker added in thought. There was no need to object, Aokiji had not shown signs of idiocy like some other higher ranking Marines only the common weirdness that seemed to tag along with a powerful Devil Fruit. So the Commodore was willing to believe that the Admiral had his reasons, perhaps even an official order, for his 'small detour.'

"Yes, Sir." With that Tashigi left, her small steps directed towards the galley, leaving Smoker alone with a disturbing puzzle of thoughts about Portgas, Blackbeard, Sengoku and the very annoying pinch in his stomach region, the foreboding feeling of uneasiness that he just couldn't nail exactly.

He knew that he'd felt that way in Arabasta as well, when he had met Strawhat, and shortly after a whole kingdom had almost been destroyed. Too many innocent people had lost their lives back then, fallen victim to a despicable conspiracy, even if the worst of it had been stopped by a bunch of pirates. This feeling wasn't good, he knew.

* * *

". . . a damn Winter Island . . . " Shanks muttered drunkenly.

Sitting on an empty wooden box, legs sunken knee-deep in the squishy snow, the powerful Captain of the Red-Haired pirates had been damning the island for its climate since he had taken his seat under the makeshift tent.

He had to put the mug of rum aside to pull the black cape close over his shivery body, which was also grating at his nerves seeing it had always required the combination of both clothes _and_ rum to keep him comfortably warm.

"Captain," Rockstar, the newest addition to the Red-Haired crew who obviously had yet to get to know Shanks a bit better, looked unsure at the drunken pirate, "you ordered us to restock our rum provisions on the _next possible_ island—"

"But . . . a goddamn Winter Island!" The Captain hissed with a sigh, a white polka-dotted curtain of red strands falling down both sides of his face while his head sunk a bit.

The sudden hand on his shoulder was Beckman's, who had taken the place to Shank's left, sitting close enough to notably radiate body warmth. He leaned over and spoke, calmly and too quietly to reach Rockstar's ears, "You worried about Ace?"

The not-so-successful confrontation with Whitebeard was the last thing they had done before coming to this island.

Whitebeard had not agreed, both Captains had crossed blades for a second, unleashing enough power to slash even the pitiful sky, and then Shanks had left, ordering to get "lots of rum."

For Ben Beckman, the case was clear.

"It was only a short time, but I always thought you certainly felt like a father to both of them," he whispered understandingly.

The answer came unexpectedly clear, "That's not it." Shanks raised his head and looked at the gunman, a small smile stretched on his lips.

"The boys have a father, and that's not me. I never wanted to be something like that."

Beckman felt words on the tip of his tongue but he didn't speak as Shanks seemed to want to say more.

"You know, Ace is ridiculously tough. And with the Mera Mera fruit . . . but even back then his human body has always been stronger than Luffy's." Beckman smiled a bit, too, remembering those stupid pointless fights of the brothers that had always ended in Luffy's claim that he just had to get three years older to beat his brother - because he didn't understand the basic idea that they would never be the same age no matter how many years passed. "But I've never been sure about the heart," Shanks finished and his voice didn't sound drunk at all anymore.

Beckman's lips moved, but the words were kept inside. "I know. There's always been a difference in their smiles."

* * *

Smoker didn't dream, hadn't dreamt in years, and so he was beside himself when he woke up, stickily bathed in sweat, after seeing _something _in his sleep.

He didn't remember anything at all though, which was unnerving since his bones were still slightly shaking, the wet on his sleeves couldn't be ignored either, yet all he remembered was that he had been terrified till the moment he'd woken up.

He felt like yelling at his brain for the insubordination; this surely wasn't what he was used to. But, he exasperatedly realized, this wasn't really his brain's fault. Somehow . . . Portgas was to blame for this, by default. It was just bad luck he couldn't scold the brat for it.

xxxxx

The crew was already working on deck – lively and loudly.

Even in his cabin, the Commodore could hear the shouting of the first mate, a young man with admirably strong vocal cords, ordering the men to adjust sails. He also heard the slurping sounds from the corridor behind the cabin door; morning time was cleaning time after all. He took two cigars from the box next to his bed; morning time was also smoking time.

It was annoying that his first thought on this already ruined day had been wasted on the prisoner in the brig and it was even more annoying that the situation wasn't looking like it would get any better until they finally reached the Great Gaol, which – courtesy of the unscheduled porting at Selva – would take even longer.

He heaved his tired, aching body up rather ungracefully to sit on the bed's edge and blinked irritated when the sun caught his eyes through the cabin window.

His jacket was hanging over the chair next to the bed, where he had put it the previous evening, and the word on the back was facing him directly. A warning, a reminder, a direction – that was shadowed now while the early sunrays were hitting the front of the chair.

The bed creaked a bit when Smoker pushed his weight up completely. He usually didn't mind the supposedly uncomfortable bedding since he could sleep just as well in a simple hammock, but the last night had made him and that particular bed enemies. Now the old wood moaned just as much as he felt like doing.

Today, he would find out what was going on with that Blackbeard fellow, and then not bother talking to the captured Fire Fist again.

Thus, he had a plan.

xxxxx

On deck, Johnson was still yelling instructions, his voice far too loud now that Smoker didn't have the dampening effect of walls between the man and his own ears. Only a week and it'll be over, he calmed himself.

He and Tashigi could go back to their crew and their real work in no time.

The men weaseled around accordingly: climbed up the masts, checked the canons, and swabbed the deck. They were neat sailors, hard working and diligent, though none of them were particularly striking – aside from the man with the supernatural organ and . . . her.

Smoker had spotted one single woman among the crew, aside from the unremarkable nurse that was assisting Shalaton, with well toned curves and long blonde hair that was waving angelicly in the smallest blows of the wind – she should have tied it up properly, he assessed. Still, that Ensign really was a bit outstanding looks wise, other men probably would have called her beautiful, but her similarity to Hina threw Smoker off.

That woman . . . she gave him headaches.

The one time that Hina had caught him red handed in the act had been uncomfortable enough to avoid sexual explorations on board a ship ever since and – even worse – afterwards, she'd had way too much fun blackmailing him about the matter.

Sometimes he wondered what his self proclaimed 'dear friend' would think if she knew that the image of her face lurking through the door frame could immediately extinguish even the hottest burning desire he might have felt for a crew member —

"Captain Smoker!"

Again, Tashigi invaded his ongoing thought process without warning but this time it was a welcome distraction.

"Will you talk to the pirate again?" She asked as she approached from the direction of the brig. Smoker concluded that his Lieutenant had already brought breakfast to the captive with the apparently insatiable hunger.

"Did he talk to you again?" He ignored her question, curious after the last time she had gotten information from the captive.

But Tashigi's face reddened remarkably, and she almost stuttered, "Not about Blackbeard."

This observation wouldn't fit into what he had expected.

And Smoker clearly wasn't in the mood for any kind of suggestive hinting, friendly beating around the bush or smooth conversation in general, well he never was, so he just blurted out, "Don't tell me you did fall for him or something just as stupid?"

"Wha— no! He's a pirate!" Her expression was one of honest shock and surprise. And Smoker kind of liked and kind of didn't like her reasoning.

"He's a man."

Tashigi had probably already figured that part, and Smoker stopped his ill-directed mind. This obviously wasn't the way to go about the matter. "So, what's up with him then?"

"Nothing, really, Sir, it's just that he's so . . . nice. He's a civilized, polite young ma— pirate."

Now, that was indeed surprising.

In Smoker's book, the brat was on the cocky, unnerving, side and how this kind of guy could possibly have the charm to win over someone as fiercely against pirates as Tashigi was a mystery of its own.

But if this was how he wanted to play . . . Smoker's mood darkened while his internal rage level rose.

"I'm going down there now," he stated dryly.

He wasn't sure he'd want Tashigi to be involved with the obviously cunning pirate any longer. Smoker knew she wouldn't ever, under any circumstances, help him escape, but it was inexcusable that the brat had dared to try and play around with her in that way.

xxxxx

The brig was surprisingly full of light in comparison to the evening before. The small window down here apparently was on the same side as his cabin's window, so the morning sun now flooded the dark holding cell as well.

Smoker barged into the cell and greeted the snoring captive in the corner with a quick and forceful kick into his ribs, blissfully ignoring those bandages and the wounds they indicated. "Hey, Portgas!" He yelled at the ongoing source of his trouble.

The certainly painful wake-up call was almost ignored, when the pirate just raised his head without any sign of acknowledging he'd felt properly hurt. Moments like these were the reason why he still had those cuffs on even though Smoker repeatedly pondered whether he should allow them to be removed for the sake of keeping the pirate alive.

Yawning, the pirate replied, "Morning Commodore. That was not nice."

"Our deal is about food only," came the dry response.

Portgas eyed him intently before smiling wryly. "So, why you're angry with me _now_?"

Smoker couldn't stand the freckles that were highlighted now that the sun reached the tanned face. They made the man seem like a little rascal rather than the infamous criminal he really was.

"I ask questions, you answer. That's how it works," he stated.

"Man, you should really loosen up. It's not like I'm about to do something. You know I can't. Do. Anything." And as much as that shouldn't be a reason for the pirate to be happy, he grinned like this was all a funny joke.

"Tell me about Blackbeard," Smoker ordered unnerved.

The answer came promptly, and expectedly in a less friendly tone. "He's an asshole."

_Nice, polite?_ Smoker remembered Tashigi's words, wondering if she might have lost her glasses and fed the wrong captive. But then again, there was no other criminal on this boat.

Surprisingly, Portgas seemed to have decided to finally give him some useful information, "I went to finish him off, but he beat me."

A refreshingly short, precise, and emotionless statement. If the pirate continued this way, this could be finished in no time, the Marine hoped.

Smoker stopped his eyes from wandering off to Portgas' battered fingers. Instead, he looked at his face where those eyes now received enough light, that he could distinguish their color. Some dirty facet of hazelnut brown, he decided, nothing extraordinarily handsome.

Smoker realized too late that the pirate might have caught his gaze.

Portgas stared at the bars that divided the entering light into stripes of black and white while he had been talking about the man whom he obviously felt nothing short of hate for. Now, he faced Smoker again and continued.

"Seems he's got a deal with you guys. He talked about capturing Luffy and handing _him_ over, but well . . . you see how it turned out."

Smoker liked the way the pirate summarized the information in a few words. He kind of felt less angry about the charming Tashigi parts now.

"Hmm, a deal", he muttered half to himself, "there's only one kind of deal a pirate can make with the World Government."

"That's what I thought," Portgas added what they both had in mind, "Becoming a Shichibukai."

The way the younger man had spat out the word reminded Smoker of his own hate for those Government-approved criminals.

"Guess my head's worth enough for that to happen." There was a surprising lack of pride over that fact in the pirate's words. "Shit."

Smoker nodded. He briefly wondered if Strawhat's head would have been enough as well.

But, he didn't yet know the things he needed to know that would calm the roaring feeling of uneasiness in his gut.

"So, this Blackbeard, what do you know about him? You were after him for a reason, I take it." His thoughts drifted off before he continued, "Is he associated with Whitebeard?"

"He's a pirate captain now, with his own crew of scoundrels. I've seen five of them—", Portgas started, but was interrupted by Smoker's already impatient voice.

"I know that stuff. Tell me about his goals. Why Whitebeard is after him."

Portgas shifted uncomfortably in his position, the motion looked almost as childish as the freckles. "I can't tell you everything. But well, he's certainly a killer. And he's got a quite fucked-up Devil Fruit ability now . . . as you can probably tell by looking at me."

"I can tell that _you're_ fucked-up, Portgas," Smoker quickly retorted before that unnerving grin could make its way again to the brat's lips.

Too late.

"Whitebeard . . .?" Smoker tried again, as patiently as he could manage, which probably didn't come across as patient at all. Not that he cared. He had sniffed something interesting; at least his gut feeling told him that. But the damn loyal-to-death pirate brat wouldn't talk about his Captain, he realized.

"The old man doesn't like him either. If that's what you're after." This strangely seemed like the pirate was trying to meet him halfway, when Portgas added, "But the rest's not Marine business."

It _was _partly what Smoker had been after. An enemy of Whitebeard becoming a Shichibukai was, after all, interesting even if it surely wasn't something entirely new. He knew he wouldn't get more information in that direction out of the pirate, no matter what he threatened or offered.

He coldly resumed, "Guess that's enough for me. There are better trained people to extract information about Whitebeard where we're headed right now."

"Yeah, I know."

The pirate confronted him again with an unreadable expression in his eyes, while the smile seemed to be plastered on his damned mouth in a way that made Smoker think that the brat couldn't _possibly know_ what he was in for. But it wasn't his concern that an overconfident pirate that seemed to just have gotten the first real beating in his life would probably soon learn about torture as well.

Smoker wasn't sure if it was the cell's effect or if it was Portgas, but he felt already very drained.

On second thought, it couldn't possibly be the cell, since he didn't have direct contact with the tiles – his boots should isolate his cursed body from the powerful stone.

He quickly assessed the situation before he let his body slide to the ground. He should have Tashigi bring a damn chair here, he decided, settling beside the pirate, butt on the ground, back against the wall, and feeling how his strength slowly left him. All the while, he eyed the captive cautiously, for any attempted movement, especially towards the key that Portgas must be aware of sitting in Smoker's pocket.

He took a new pair of cigars, lit them, and _finally_ restored his inner balance.

Portgas' eyes were fixated on the lighter.

Smoker cursed his own carelessness when the pirate's left hand suddenly grabbed for the tiny tool. His motion was far too slow to pose a threat, and when the fire went out again and Smoker was about to throw the lighter away, the apparently weak hand simply fell down.

The Marine saw that the cuffs actually left an arm length between the two wrists, probably to allow enough movement for eating and 'other needs' no one wanted to assist a captured pirate with, but the same chain length connected to his feet, forcing him into that strange fetal position.

That's why, after the sudden movement, the pirate now lay a bit rolled sideward, next to him, while his left hand hadn't moved away from where it had fallen – on Smoker's bare chest.

He puffed two times while his frown deepened further, until he grabbed the pirate's hand angrily. The feeling was awkward, the wrist in his hand was much thinner than he had expected, much thinner than the admittedly well trained, muscled, body with the broad shoulders would have let him to believe.

Roughly he tossed the hand away, shoving the pirate up in the following movement, so that his body now flew into the corner again, right shoulder against the one wall, back sacked against the other.

The quick and rough movement had caused the bandages on the pirate's left arm to start loosening, and in between two layers of white wrapping, bruised skin branded with an incredibly poor looking crossed out 'S' was exposed.

Portgas, who just let things happen as they did, wasn't asleep this time – at least that was what the lack of snoring sounds indicated - only weaker than Smoker had realized since his loose mouth gave no indication of his body's real state.

"The fire, eh?" He stated, while his gaze wandered over the strangely bent figure. When all the cockiness seemed to have disappeared after seeing the lighter only once, Smoker wondered if he could use that somehow to his advantage. The thought was shoved aside as quickly as it had come up though, because it wasn't the right thing to do. He didn't like to act cowardly.

The pirate was staring at him silently, his gaze only half hidden by dark worn out strands; Smoker had never imagined before that even hair could look exhausted.

"He . . . you're not a bad guy . . . for a Marine," Portgas murmured, the irony biting sharply in Smoker's surprised ears.

The low and cracked voice didn't fail to alarm the Commodore considering he wanted the guy to stay alive until reaching Impel Down.

If he had already gotten his hands on the keys to the cuffs, he might have opened them right now. Like everything else on the Special Prisoner Transport Boat, this was again linked with a huge amount of paperwork he would have preferred to avoid.

"What's this with you and your brother?" He wondered, noticing too late he had spoken it out loud.

"Luffy? . . . What do you mean?" The curious voice was now both even weaker and even friendlier.

Smoker felt a vein throbbing on his forehead at the uncomfortable memory, and muttered, "He saved my life once. Blabbered bullshit about not hating me." And he really wasn't sure why he had bothered telling that.

The youth smirked, "Oh . . . I see. Too bad you can't repay with my life, eh?"

"Stupid. I've already repaid the debt. And you," his voice turned sarcastically lower than before, "you don't really think you'll lose that rotten life of yours?"

The idea of that actually enraged him. Smoker hated politics, not because he was lazy or stupid but because he wasn't. The cocky pirate's life wasn't in any real danger, at least if he managed to survive the trip, because of the man whose subordinate he was.

So, he growled, "I thought that damn property mark on your back should prevent your sorry ass from following the usual deals . . ."

He didn't say 'from meeting the gallows as you deserve' but his tone of voice didn't leave much doubt about his exact thoughts.

"Eh, you think so?"

"Most people up there are damn cowards, especially when it comes to your Captain."

Smoker spotted an undecided twitch on the pirate's face, though he didn't comment.

"They'll pry for information like hyenas, but they won't dare to kill you." The thought that his angry snarl could come across as a comforting idea for the pirate hit him only a second later, and he immediately regretted talking about it.

"Haha—", Portgas coughed. Now he looked like a grotesque vampire imitation, with all that blood oozing out of the corners of his mouth while the stupid grin was still cemented there. "How funny. Because _you_ would, ne, Commodore? You would hang every last pirate on the Grand Line if you could?"

Smoker growled lowly, and if Portgas had understood that as affirmation, he certainly didn't show it, when he continued, half-dead-happily, "I think, you—", until his spoken words transitioned fluently into snoring sounds.

And the Marine _knew_ he'd have hated hearing that sentence's ending anyway.

* * *

The noisy running and yelling on deck hindered any one of the diligently working Marines from noticing the one missing crew member and the very quiet ringing of a Baby Den Den Mushi in the small chamber behind the galley.

"Hello?"

"Sir?"

"Can you speak freely?"

"Yes."

"Your report, please. Anything new?"

"Smoker has decided to permit the captive enough medical aid to survive."

"That was not expected . . . it could be problematic."

"I don't think so. Shalaton is the only medic on board."

"Oh, right. Then the problem should solve itself. But be on alert and observe closely, you know we can't let Fire Fist survive this trip."

"I know, Sir."

"I'll contact you again tomorrow."

(tbc)


	3. Doors

Beta'd by xanthos. You're amazing - and this chapter has been greatly improved thanks to your help!

.

* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 3 – Doors**

* * *

.

The defining feeling should have been pain.

It wasn't.

xxxxx

Ace was glad for the bandages, he really was, even though he didn't think they did anything for his healing.

It was because he was cold.

If that alone wasn't sickening beyond belief, then the state of his mind certainly was. From a lively person who could fall asleep at any random point he had changed into someone who would only wake at random times, always confused about the wheres, the whos, the hows. And as wounds, fever and seastone were working on his body, his mind wasn't unaffected either.

He closed his eyes; there was the damn blue cat again, grinning madly, hungrily, at him. He opened his eyes; he was alone in the dark, cold, cell.

xxxxx

That rotten stench invading his nostrils might have been coming from his own dying body, he didn't know.

He was dying.

Ace could tell because he had already died twice. He'd been saved, though, and brought back to life twice as well.

Now, after seeing that darkness he knew there wouldn't be a third time. Perhaps he was a ghost already, and Smoker, that grumbling old bear, was a ghost whisperer after all. That hopeful thought was indeed better than what he dreaded might happen if he lived much longer.

It was getting darker and he knew that this had nothing to do with the sun. A blurry long blue tail around his body, holding him in place, while sharp carnivore teeth worked on his wrists, biting, nibbling, slowly excavating muscles and bones; all of that was not real. Or the pain was--? He was helpless against the voracious cat since he had no control over his eyelids, his body, or his consciousness.

If this was the end already, it had come faster than he'd expected. The place of his death seems filthy, although, if he was honest, it was indeed better than the last time he'd almost lost his life.

Not in terms of the cell, of course.

With the help of some more sunrays in the morning, he'd been able to really 'see' a bit more of the small space he had awoken in after the fight with Teach. In that light, he'd confirmed that it wasn't just that he couldn't find any furniture - there really _was_ no cot, chair, or any other place to sit other than on the tiled, cold, energy draining ground.

The cell was completely empty.

At first, he had wondered if these Marines even denied him the courtesy of a latrine since they didn't come to take him there, nor had he spotted anything in the cell itself. That was, until he had seen the morning light reflect off of some kind of liquid which had led him to discover the barred hole in the ground a few feet from where he lay.

Right next to the bars.

They were seriously treating him like a caged animal, he assessed in a mix of annoyance and amusement. Ace actually didn't count humiliation amongst his favorite activities but his current problems were so much worse than taking a piss in public that he could only laugh at that absurd attempt to mentally break a captive. Though, considering nobody was there to watch anyway, they might not have thought of that 'tactic' after all.

No, the location was not really better than last time, worse probably. At least he'd gotten good food for his last meal and a last humane, almost borderline-nice, chat with the grumpy man in charge. He was more thankful to Smoker than the man would ever know for everything that he'd done. Ace knew that the Commodore had not really gained something of equal value through their exchange, just a name that would probably decorate the newspapers soon anyway and the hint of a deal.

Of course, when he'd first woken up here to see a vague image of an analyzing, observing, Aokiji standing behind the bars, he hadn't gotten any information about this. Thing was, he had not needed an explanatory word from the Admiral to grasp his current situation.

Even if he had no recollection of the end of that devastating fight with Teach, he was smart enough to put the pieces together accordingly. Surely, the Marines hadn't been there by magical coincidence. And as much as Ace hoped the traitorous bastard was in no better condition than he himself - and considering his own pain, that was a delightful wish - it was unlikely that Teach might be dying in the neighboring cell.

The more Ace put things together, the less he'd felt like continuing. Sometimes he really wished that a bit of his brothers blissful ignorance had been bestowed upon him.

Luffy would just sit here and be talking about how he'd kick Teach's ass the next time. For sure.

Ace sat here and felt empty, the cacophony of smells in the air had even lessened his appetite.

All the while, in everything he'd done or hadn't, in staying true to his words, Smoker had become both a pain and relief for him. Undeniably, it was the moldy topping on Ace's rotten dessert that the best thing since meeting Blackbeard had turned out to be the one Marine who probably hated pirates the most.

When the grip of the cat's tail tightened around him, strange suckers attached themselves to his body, emptying him further and further.

His thoughts became less coherent; mixing up images of the ocean, Luffy, Whitebeard, his crew, Makino, Shanks, Teach and even Smoker, hot flames and a cold darkness.

With that image, the last of his strength left him . . .

xxxxx

There was a cascade of loud sounds breaking through his half-aware consciousness.

Creaking, squeaking, rustling, chattering.

Everything happened very quickly. Rough hands grabbing, moving him, voices threatening him, and without even knowing how he could tell, Ace knew Smoker wasn't there.

Now the pirate was lying uncomfortably sprawled out on his back, his eyes unable to adapt to the light and only blurrily recognizing the tiles of the cell's ceiling. A growing pain caused by the sudden stretching crawled along his spine and shot sparks of ache somewhere deep inside. Three linen straps, tightened around his neck, chest and thighs, pressed him into the rough fabric of a very basic gurney.

The heavy seastone cuffs had been taken off but some sharp edged weapon was still pressed against his left thigh, burning slightly at the already numb flesh while his freed excoriated wrists and ankles quickly colored the white cloth underneath them in dark shades of red.

The white-haired man who had just tightened the strap around his neck so much that the wounded captive coughed at the pain of suffocation, looked down on him with slightly perverted anticipation.

He was a small, old, doctor, but when he had thrown off his white trademark coat to heave the half-conscious patient up on the gurney, he had earned a surprised gasp from one of the Marines who observed the scene carefully from behind the cell's bars. Not everybody on the boat knew about the doctor; off-the-record it was simply suggested to avoid being wounded enough that his help was needed. And the newbie behind the bars had just gotten a glimpse of the reason behind this.

Underneath the doctor's robe the short man wore only a white undershirt that was stretched over his chest in a manner that indicated rather unexpectedly trained pectorals, his arms sported impressive biceps as well and the belt he had slung over one shoulder and across his chest carried various scalpels and resembled an ammunition belt. The glasses perched low on his nose were a startling contradiction to the warrior like image the doctor presented.

The medic ran his wrinkled right hand almost gently over the blades that were lined up across his broad chest, searching for one in particular, while the pirate's eyes lost focus as his breathing grew weaker.

A creaking sound disturbed the morbid scenery, the noise unmistakably coming from the brig entry. Small footsteps accompanied by metallic clanking approached the crowded holding cell.

"Doctor Shalaton!" called a female voice out of puff, "You have forgotten me again!"

The air was immediately fraught with the crushing tang of alcohol and pharmaceutical products as a woman in nurse's uniform closed in, her short brown curls whipping with motion, while she pushed a brimming metallic cart forward.

Despite her relatively young age, her looks were definitely _not _the fulfillment of certain male fantasies.

The group of Marines standing before the cell eyed the nurse and looked curiously at the medical utensils lined up on that cart before her - dressing material, disinfectant, anesthetics in particular catching their glances. Then they looked back at the doctor inside the cell with nothing but his scalpels who had already started cutting open the pirate's bandages, and they gulped in sync.

Shalaton's eyes glinted with unconcealed, predatory, anticipation when white linen fell to both sides of the gurney.

The multitude of unsavory injuries on the pirate's chest and stomach were revealed even though they were still covered by the last reddened pieces of bandaging material. This dirty layer of bandages had, however, already glued dry to his flesh. Ignoring the stuttering rise and fall of the patient's chest and the weak coughing, the doctor grabbed for a different scalpel to cut the bond of linen and skin, when the nurse entered the cell with the medical cart and yelled, "Ah! The patient!"

After seeing the discolored face of the pirate, she quickly jumped towards the gurney and loosened the strap around Ace's neck a bit. Her ear over his mouth, she then checked that his breathing had normalized.

Choking and coughing followed and Shalaton glanced upwards, an annoyed expression at the disturbance on his face.

"I was working here, Elena!" he scolded the nurse.

"And I was helping, Doctor," she responded, her tone carefully respectful.

Ace managed to direct a grateful gaze at her, but her eyes stayed cold. "Pirate," she spoke emotionlessly, "we have _orders _to patch you up enough so you will survive until we reach the Great Gaol."

That said, she pressed a stinking cloth that had been dipped in an etherizing solution into his face.

It didn't take long until Ace drifted off, as his greedily gasping mouth inhaled the vapor quickly, hearing in the background the laughing of men near his cell. Before his mind went completely blank, Ace wondered a last time about the situation.

Was this Smoker's decision, too?

"Elena, if he's unconscious I can't question him about his Devil Fruit!" Shalaton lectured.

"I am very sorry, but I thought we had to cut him open to take a look at those internal injuries, and I remembered reading in a book that we should first etherize the patient . . . "

"That may be true but the one to decide when we don't need him conscious any longer, is _me_ not you."

She nodded obediently, and then grabbed the disinfectant from the cart, holding it towards the doctor, before she added thoughtfully, "I'm sure you'll have another opportunity to dissect his organs and analyze the Logia fruit's influence. Please remember, that right now he's still unable to transform into flame. He might die, and our orders are to make sure that he survives."

Shalaton mustered a glance at the pirate before him and sighed, "A body like this is a once in a lifetime chance . . . You just don't get your hands on a heavily wounded logia user." The speed of his words increased until he murmured excitedly, "It is my duty as a scientist to collect all the data I can!"

"As I said, I'm sure you'll get the opportunity to do that later on. If his general state of health is better, you'll probably even get to conduct some experiments on him while he's awake . . . and if he survives you can question him much more, too. A captured Logia user, _alive_, in your hands -- just imagine the possibilities . . ."

The disappointed expression on the old man's face was replaced by a new determined one, "Hn . . . I see."

xxxxx

The man, hidden from view, observed the scene with a growing frown. This surely didn't look good at all.

He wasn't a medic and didn't really know what those two were doing with Portgas but against all previous predictions this looked pretty much like classic surgery to him. Judging from their facial expressions, they were surprised as well.

They spent their time fishing small dirty lumps out of his insides - what was that? - and even from under previously unbroken skin. Apparently, something was off with his organs, too. So this had happened when Whitebeard's Second had fought this new ally . . .

A frightening Devil Fruit ability, indeed.

The problem was that Shalaton should have been more interested in dissecting the Logia user rather than healing him, and now, because of that troublesome nurse he was behaving like a real doctor. Using the _disinfectant_ that she offered, working carefully on the open wound, _not _overusing his oh-so-beloved scalpels on healthy flesh, and even letting her stitch up the cut provisory in the end!

This, however, hadn't been the end of the operation. Luckily they had to abort further work when it became late afternoon and too dark. After all, the equipment to artificially light the cell as needed for an operation wasn't allowed in the brig – not with a man who could bend fire to his will.

He smiled contentedly at the thought; the boss had really been very clever in making up some useful 'rules' so that even in case someone wanted to help the pirate, it wouldn't be easy. And it had already proven to be an incredibly useful measure when the White Hunter, usually famous for his ferocity against pirates, had strangely decided to not let this one simply die.

Quickly evaluating the newest problem, it seemed the pirate would live, the calm observer decided that everything could still be resolved if only the nurse were to stop with her interference and influence on Shalaton.

The basic solution was quite simple but they would need a decent plan for this assassination, careful to let everything seem unsuspicious. At least they already had a very good suspect to frame the deed on, later--

He stopped his thoughts from trailing off. They had to hurry now; Fire Fist dying because of the wounds he'd received from Blackbeard had to happen here on this boat, before reaching World Government authority.

He knew this was their last chance, and he would give everything to be of use in this case. Another failure and it would mean they'd lose their last supporter in the ranks.

* * *

In the mess, Smoker was chewing on his bread in the very same manner his teeth usually worked on his cigars. Compared to his smoky friends, the food was weak for it all too quickly completely disintegrated and he had to constantly refill his mouth to keep his teeth from grinding against each other.

He'd always known thinking was best done while smoking.

When Tashigi had convinced him to finally eat his breakfast, Smoker had not been hungry even if it was past noon already. And now he was sitting in the mess hall, chewing and wondering why he had listened to her after all.

Though, his thoughts did stray to another subject.

Ever since Portgas had told him about the deal that probably had been made over his head, Smoker had wondered _why_ exactly the World Government would have wanted something like that.

As much as he didn't like all of the underhanded spoken or unspoken agreements between the World Government and the strongest pirate forces, as much as he didn't like the so-called-balance that resulted from ridiculous justice-defying inventions such as the Shichibukai, it wasn't as if he didn't know of those things.

And so, _knowing_ that even the World Government wouldn't dare to oppose Whitebeard too much, and thus knowing that the appropriate conviction and execution of Portgas wasn't likely to occur – what was the point of all this? Were they really after information about Whitebeard, as he had told the pirate? They certainly couldn't just let Portgas go now that he was captured, which meant the fire brat would pose a constant strain on the rather fragile 'balance' of the New World.

There was trouble coming and the source of it all was now in Smoker's hands.

It probably would have been easier if he had just let the pirate die here, and he couldn't quite wrap his mind around why he'd thought it better to bring him alive to be truly judged when deep down he knew this wouldn't happen. Normally, even if it was often troublesome, Smoker was content with doing what he deemed just. This time was problematic because he didn't have all the details, just an idea -- and hadn't it been more a spur of the moment decision anyway?

He stuffed the next slice of bread into his mouth, glaring at the last of the men who were still inside the mess and dared to stare at his choice of a meal.

Only a few - brave - crew members were still sitting and eating.

Most of them had left the mess quickly after seeing the Commodore enter, busy expressions on their faces. They probably felt a bit annoyed by his appearance since he looked as if he wanted to inspect who was still chatting there. They knew he could have gone to the wardroom and had his meal there, alone. Even Smoker himself wasn't all too sure why he had chosen to eat here. Controlling his subordinates certainly wasn't the reason.

Down in the brig they currently were _trying_ to save the pirate's life.

It could be that he was completely wasting his energy thinking about problems-to-come as, judging from the state Portgas had been in just some hours ago, he still couldn't be sure the source of all trouble would survive.

The sea's salty breeze blew through opened windows and lightened the heavy smell of sweat and meat that still lingered -- although the lunch break was already over.

That one female crewmember also was still there, three tables from him, and she smiled towards Smoker. He looked at her dark blue eyes when her lips, actually painted with red lipstick, curved upward as she noticed the Commodore's glimpse. Annoyed, he realized that he hadn't managed to hide his gaze. She nodded quickly to her comrades at her table and then stood up.

Smoker observed her as she brought her tray over to the galley door, her hips swinging more like that of a secretary seducing her boss than that of a female soldier at work. At least her hair was now tied up into a long blonde ponytail. She talked shortly to the dishwasher, flirted rather, though Smoker couldn't tell from the distance, before she walked towards the mess' door.

Unfortunately, the Commodore had taken his seat close to that very door and when she came across his table she wouldn't accept his "I'm busy eating" expression and stood there still until he had to acknowledge her presence. "Yes, ensign?"

"Sir," she started, smiling again and blue eyes shining friendly. From a closer perspective, she really didn't look that similar to Hina, but something about her was still . . . Hinaesque. Smoker quickly grabbed his glass of water to wash away unpleasant thoughts.

" . . . . ."

"Can I speak with you?"

"Whatever."

"I was just wondering . . ." she started, before moving to sit down unasked next to Smoker on the green leather imitation of the bank.

He took another slice of bread and waited.

"Is there anything I can do to help you with your work?" she finally asked.

"Do your job?" Smoker mumbled irritated.

"I mean, further than that?" She tried to explain while her innocently placed hand moved slowly closer to Smoker's on the table, "I really admire you, your strength and conviction. I'd like to be of more use than just scrubbing the deck on this important mission . . ."

Her eyes widened when Smoker only snarled and his chewing mouth formed into some undefined but clearly dark and unpleasant expression, "Important mission?"

She was staring expectantly at him, but the Commodore had finished. If she could not read the message his statement held, she was not worthy of his time anyway.

Puzzled she nodded quickly, pressed out a, "Sorry," and - finally - walked away.

Smoker wondered what that exchange had been about.

He knew that, apart from the many Marines who didn't like him and his guts, there were some, very few, who actually admired him. He didn't really care about either of them.

In the end, leaving the bread and taking the cigars, he decided he should check on the pirate to make sure he wasn't agonizing about an issue that had already solved itself.

* * *

When Ace opened his eyes, he was bound to the very real gurney, yet he still wondered whether the strange doctor had been from the same - _wrong _- reality as the blue cat or if he actually had just been in the hands of such a man . . . and survived?

Then he realized, someone else was still here breathing deeply.

Ace was reminded of the linen strap against his neck when he tried to raise his head and he could only bend his neck sideward to look for the source of the sound. His nose had picked up on an already familiar scent and so he was not surprised when he saw _him_.

Sitting in a very flammable wooden chair was Commodore Smoker.

His silvery white hair strangely didn't make him seem old and its disobedience to the laws of gravity really fit the man who only followed his own rules. Smoker's brow was furrowed in the way that Ace had already decided must be his trademark expression, and the two cigars polluting the brig's humid air made clear that he wasn't the least bit concerned about the patient's health.

His presence was impressive and a dark aura threatened the pirate to dare to make a stupid comment.

It was just Smoker's bad luck that Ace would feel particularly invited to comment whenever he made that surly expression. Their eyes met for a moment, and the face that the Marine made was just too funny for Ace to not think about the absurdity of it all.

They really were contrasting opposites: the man who seemed unable to smile and the man who would smile no matter the situation.

And what an interesting game they were playing again – had Smoker even realized yet? If Smoker wasn't willing to show any sign of joy over having a high priced pirate in his brig, then Ace would show all signs of happiness a captured and soon-to-die pirate shouldn't have, he decided.

Smiling he purred, "Hello Commodore!" It wasn't entirely convincing as his throat was still dry and hurting. Smoker, however, didn't look like he had an eye - or ear - for that detail anyway.

The Marine didn't respond, but just sat there looking at the pirate.

"Can I keep the bed? It's a bit hard but I'd definitely prefer it over the tiled floor . . ." Ace started again.

Another complete lack of reaction. It hadn't occurred to him until now but apparently Smoker was really thinking about something.

After what felt like an eternity to the pirate, and he couldn't even tell if he had stayed awake all that time, the Marine finally spoke. His voice was so calm that it almost surprised Ace.

"I'm interested in Blackbeard's Devil Fruit ability," he simply stated, "after seeing what they took out of your body."

Ace honored the Commodore with an especially broad grin. Oh, honestly the man had no idea, the physical damage had only been half of it -- but he would be damned if he told Smoker about that.

"Don't know. 'Darkness' or something."

Smoker nodded. Ace was actually surprised that the man had accepted his answer so easily. The Marine had obviously been after some more details of his fight with the traitor, though Ace didn't see _why_ at first.

It had taken him some thought to understand that for Smoker, Blackbeard wasn't an ally, even when the newspapers or the World Government would make it official. For this Marine, he still was a rotten pirate, nothing more, nothing less.

If he hadn't had so many other worries, Ace would have been a bit hurt for standing on equal hated grounds with the likes of Teach in Smoker's judging eyes, but it was fair after all. They _were_ both pirates.

Ace heard the noise of the Marine's heavy frame walking slowly towards the cell door and before he had even started wondering about the _why_, he'd made a quick decision. He wanted the man to stay a bit longer.

"Stop!"

Smoker turned around; Ace could not see it from where his head currently lay, but he could tell from the slurping of the Marine's feet on the ground, and from the fresh cloud of smoke that now came his way.

"How about a new deal?" he offered with a faked sheepish tone.

Ace felt that his companion was tempted but hesitant. And he had honestly no idea how to go about this now; Blackbeard wasn't as important to Smoker as he had been to Ace, though the Marine obviously was at least interested enough to ask.

"No further deals," came finally a reply, and it sounded decided. Strangely, Ace had understood already, in Smoker's world there was no place for 'a bit', only yes or no and never 'perhaps.'

"Then call it a request?" he tried again, "I'll tell you what I know and you can just decide about the request later . . ."

Surely, Smoker wouldn't be against that, would he?

Definitely grumbling, the Marine walked back into the cell.

"Tell me," he ordered with that funny pissed-off attitude of his and Ace doubted he would ever understand why the man behaved that way.

xxxxx

Then, he had talked - as much as he could, considering his state. He had dozed off at least once as well. And it had been kind of pleasant to wake up and find that nothing had changed this time.

To say Smoker clung to the words coming from his lips would be a massive exaggeration: the man just sat there, leaned back in his chair, listened quietly and smoked. Like a psychiatrist, Ace thought amused.

He hadn't had any hope that Smoker would even bother to ask for his request let alone think about _fulfilling_ it, and so he was surprised when, after he had finished telling the story of his fight with Teach, the Marine really asked, ". . . and what was that 'request'?"

For a moment he was speechless, and being Portgas D. Ace, he was then speechless at his own speechlessness.

Smoker's reaction was a raised brow and a slight twitching in the left corner of his mouth - indicated by the cigars changing direction.

Was he amused?

Was that an _amused_ expression? Ace had no idea, but it definitely was the furthest from all his annoyed faces he'd seen so far.

His own facial muscles relaxed, he breathed deeply and just looked curiously at the other man before he finally said what had been on his mind earlier, "I'd like a blanket, or something like that . . ."

This wasn't about an ordinary captive's request for better treatment, and Ace knew that Smoker must have realized that too. This was about admitting that he'd become weak enough, broken enough, and so deeply robbed of his powers that he had to actually ask for that.

This was about trusting the Marine enough to tell him. It didn't matter how casually he worded this, Smoker would get the idea.

And worse, Ace would have loved a small light down here as well He knew, however, that there was no way they would bring fire into the brig at all. Ever. And he wouldn't deny that they were damn right with that.

It just would have been nice . . . not to sit in the dark most of the time.

Smoker nodded without commenting. He was on his way to leave the cell again, chair in his left hand, keys in the right, when he turned one last time back to Ace and asked the one question that had been lurking unspoken between them.

"The fire -- did it come back?"

Ace didn't answer. Really, just now he didn't even want to think about it. He was beginning to feel better and there was no need to think about _that_ right now.

Smoker walked away, he had taken his silence as a reply.

The pirate's ears registered the metallic squeaking of the un-oiled hinges when the Marine closed the cell door, and he was immediately taken aback. His brain worked, desperate.

_Metallic_ squeaking? Maybe, just maybe . . .

He was happy to put his remaining life-force into more productive thoughts, and Ace decided to act as soon as Smoker had left the brig. He tried to move his hands down the side of the gurney, but he was still restricted by the three linen straps. His strength had only returned in small portions. Eventually, he thought that he might be able to forcefully rip the linen apart. However, this didn't seem like a good idea as the Marines obviously deemed him pretty weak right now and making them aware of his growing strength would be just downright stupid.

So what was he to do?

Honestly, the fact that he thought it possible to move at all was surprising him. He still felt pain – _immense _pain – in his stomach, wrists, and ankles but it was so much better. The numbness, helplessness in his own body, the defining feeling of inner coldness and dying had almost vanished, and he wondered about what Smoker had told him. 'What they took out of your body.'

He'd known from the beginning that something had been wrong with his body and not because his feverish dreams included cats but because a beating, no matter who the opponent, shouldn't have led to his near death.

He was not that weak.

Just now it had hit him that this doctor might have fished out some souvenirs left by Teach when they . . . when he . . .

No, he wouldn't think about that.

Not Teach nor the fire.

Instead, he would try to plan an escape. The chances were close to zero and his newfound 'strength' would probably not last very long but if there was a chance, he would take it. He'd rather die on the run than lie and rot here in sorrow and pain.

This provisory bed that definitely wasn't made of seastone must have some useful parts on it and if only he wasn't bound like this . . .

Ace realized he couldn't move at all under the straps, so he tried to push the one that fixed his chest and arms by jamming his shoulder blades back into the thin mattress and arching his upper body slightly. The linen was very tight and his slow waving movements made the rough material rub and cut painfully into the skin. Compared to the pain that the movement of his stomach caused though, this was nothing, and Ace bore both with clenched teeth.

After a minute of wrestling with the strap, he had finally moved it up so that it now lay above the one over his neck. Both arms free, he quickly put a probing hand on his wounded stomach, checking for the source of the warm fluid gush he'd felt there earlier. He was relieved to find a - closed - suture and inwardly thanked the doctor and the nurse for their obvious good work.

Searching for the device that was holding the linen straps in place, Ace let his hands slide along both sides of the gurney.

Half an arm's length underneath the mattress, welded onto a pole of the metallic frame, his fingers finally found and opened the first handle in the middle. Pushing back the metal that held the strap in place, he could use his other hand to cautiously pull on the linen. Should someone come unexpectedly down here again, he could just re-fasten the strap with the handle to seem unsuspicious.

This was the way to go!

* * *

Marco wondered briefly how the hell it had come to this, and cursed Ace for not being there.

For two days the wind had not blown anywhere near Whitebeard's mighty flagship. The sky was a clear blue, and not even the smallest cirrus cloud strayed anywhere in sight on this perfect spring day.

A hot climate strained and exhausted the big captain's body while cold weather usually darkened his mood even if it wasn't too problematic for his health. But the light warmth of the spring was exactly the reason why the Moby Dick was now anchored for a few days in these waters: to give the Captain a short enjoyable break before travelling further.

Marco, the stressed First Division Commander, currently managed the huge united crew's fun activities.

Third Division Commander Jozu, dubbed lazy dumbass in Marco's mind, was no help in this - where was he anyway? The other divisions hadn't reported back in a while.

At first there had been work, lots of it actually: small repairs of all the little cracks and rifts a certain Red Hair had left during his last visit. Then there was the usual cleaning procedure, but two days later Marco had run out of ideas for possible labor when there really was nothing to do as they lay at anchor like this.

It was a bit of a problem for him.

After the usual polishing of the deck, he had ordered the men to scrub the railing, wash all hammocks on board, clean windows and portholes, had let them paint the flag symbol freshly over, he'd even sent them overboard to check and clean the ship's keel . . . and now he really was out of ideas.

That's why they were currently playing some very stupid game that involved naked butts and hidden faces and lots of silly laughter. It was, of course, something that Ace had 'taught' them. Still, in this kind of situation it was useful as everybody was occupied with that admittedly brainless activity while the Captain could relax his exhausted old body in the perfect climate.

This kind of thing had really been Ace's specialty whenever he'd been on board.

He had always been the fun part of the crew, his presence even cheering Whitebeard up every now and then. Truly, everybody liked him. It was pretty darn impossible not to like him, like a law of nature forced by the freckles and the smile; he was so energetic, funny, and surprisingly shrewd and strong, too.

Probably even Teach, the despicable traitor, would like Ace until the moment those fierce flaming hands ended his rotten life for good.

Right now though, the everlasting search for the bastard was starting to seriously annoy Marco because it had been a long time since Ace had last reported back. And everybody knew he _could_ report back considerably quickly if he wished. After all, the Second Division Commander was probably the only person on the Grand Line who could travel so quickly between the Old World where Teach last had been sighted and the New World, where his crew waited for Ace's return.

Even the huge barrier that the sea-dividing mountain of the Red Line posed for ordinary pirates, forcing them to go through the efforts of crossing it underwater, wasn't a of problem for Ace, as his small skiff could easily be heaved over the mountain, undiscovered by the Marine Headquarters that were stationed on top there.

But heck, the gutsy guy would probably even walk right through that base, in an ad-lib disguise, slurping tea with some of the soldiers, before moving forth. That's why Marco felt it was his rightful demand that he wanted Ace to get his ass back to his crew as soon as possible.

When more and more of the men started bugging him to join the 'funny play', Marco quickly put on a serious facial expression. He wasn't very convincing though and he knew it, so he quickly walked over towards the huge seat where his captain currently drank his - self-proclaimed - medically necessary portion of one barrel sake for the day.

The blonde commander sighed silently as he leaned against the railing towards Whitebeard.

"Really long time not to hear from Ace . . ." he murmured casually. "I wonder what's taking him so long. Could at least steal a Marine Den Den Mushi and give a damn call or something . . ."

The huge man laughed loudly, "Gurarara, you chickened out – and I had wanted to guess which ass was yours!"

Marco ignored the comment, picked his nose and continued thinking. Whitebeard was in good mood, which was great, since after the meeting with Red-Hair, the First Division Commander had been worried that their banter might have affected his captain's health. Now Marco had other issues; theories that he had developed while being exposed to what could only be called the men's lack of Ace.

"Pops, I'm starting to suspect he's taken a little detour. Perhaps a girl or something . . .?" he speculated.

"That boy? Gurarara!"

Marco was glad that he had at least managed to amuse his Captain even if this had not been his intention.

"What's with your bad memory, son? Don't you remember the time when we took him to the ritual family initiation?"

Gulping, Marco thought of Lupanalo Island.

Long white sand beaches, lush green palm leaves rustling in the soft breeze, a big colorful mansion near the landing stage, lampions above the front door soaking the entry in steamy light, Mary's wonderful, huge, round b--

Suddenly Whitebeard laughed and Marco realized his face could have taken on a slightly dreamy expression.

"I'm not talking about yours!" the Captain assessed what he had observed. "The time with the boy!"

"Uh," Marco remembered. Clearly. He grinned.

Whitebeard's impressively large teeth flashed under the trademark beard while his grin grew broader, until he burst out into laughter - so much that his nurses observed him nervously. "That was indeed memorable. And what a really fitting 'initiation' for the wild one."

"It was an incredible party. I still can't believe we had that much fun without even going to a room."

"And we didn't have to pay a thing afterwards either."

They both sighed, and turned their heads again to look at the crew's play.

After a moment of silence, Whitebeard suddenly asked with a serious tone, "Do you want to go look for him?"

(tbc)


	4. The Calm before the Storm

As always, _thanks _goes to my awesome beta reader xanthos who helped me so much with this chapter.

Dear readers, I'm sorry this update took so long. Hope you haven't already forgotten what happened last. ;)

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* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 4 - The Calm before the Storm**

**

* * *

**

.

"I swear," the blonde woman hissed furiously, "that man is asexual!"

Blueno looked down to her and waited for a moment, unsure whether her rant was finished. Then he answered in a composed manner, "He _told _you there'd be no point in trying to seduce Smoker. It was _you _who said you could twist any man around your little finger."

She didn't answer, just folded her arms as she leant against the small chamber's wall. The room was too small for two adults, and it clearly showed now that she needed some more space to breath and curse.

"It doesn't matter," Blueno declared calmly, "our main objective now should be the nurse, Elena. Without her, Shalaton will behave just as planned."

"And what do you suggest? Kill her? How is that supposed to be a skilled and unsuspicious operation then?"

"Calm down, Kalifa. I know you're frustrated. But let's settle this smoothly. You want to get back to your former position, don't you?"

She nodded, an annoyed twitch on her mouth's edge. Blueno only wanted to do this job because he thought of it as right. For her, however, there was also some fun to be found in it. And simply killing was only half of the fun that manipulating and deceiving was.

A man that would look at and ignore her, that was unthinkable. Natural beauty and good care had nurtured an outstanding mirror image - _she was sure of that!_ - and it was unforgiveable how Smoker dared to act. Something had to be wrong with him, and that ruined all the fun.

* * *

His body felt heavy. It wasn't as if he cared, of course, it was just unusual seeing how it shouldn't feel like that. And while he trudged along that way too narrow-walled corridor, Smoker registered his own every heartbeat throbbing loudly. The dismal walls seemed to lunge at his shoulders and the ceiling pressed from above, almost grazing his unruly white hair tips.

Outside, the weather had been quiet for a while. The sea was calm, and the ship only swayed lightly. His feet, however, weren't as steady on the ground as they were supposed to be.

How could they, when _nothing _was as it was supposed to be?

The half dead Whitebeard brat down in the brig, whose brother's death Smoker would have watched happen unblinkingly back then in Loguetown - why couldn't he just do the same with him?

Just now, he'd seen, only for a split second of course, too much of the young man . . . and now he was going to get him a blanket.

A blanket.

For Fire Fist Ace.

He repeated the blasphemous words to himself, as if he was watching himself from a distance. As if he could convince himself not to do it. It was futile. He was forced to observe himself marching towards his cabin and he just couldn't stop.

Less than a short week, and everything would be over . . .

Not long and it would be evening, and during the next day the ship would finally reach Selva, where they could pick up Aokiji and restore the emptied, no - the "Portgas'd," food provisions.

Smoker would never admit it, but he was looking forward to being able to leave the ship for a while. He hadn't been to Selva before, as it was not outstanding for acts of piracy, but he'd heard of the island's famous autumn woods, with the trees' leaves always being colored in wonderful facets ranging from fresh yellowish green to the darkest shades of red and brown.

Smoker, however, wasn't interested in the island's tourist attraction. He hoped to have some time to go strolling through the capital city as a good way to pass time, and if he was lucky . . . maybe, he would find the one single lost pirate a year that could be found even there, the one whom he could take properly into custody. Perhaps he'd find even one that would put up a bit of fight, some resistance so he could smash and break pirate bones instead of letting them get fixed. That would indeed be something to look forward to.

He'd reached his cabin door, opened it, the wood creaking in protest, and entered. Turning right, he moved over to where the rudimentary cupboard was built into the wall. The old sliding door was slightly stuck and Smoker had to use some force to open it. That was great, as he hadn't had an enemy in too long. When the wood's defense grew even stronger, Smoker realized he'd probably just forced a new rail into the weak frame, but he couldn't care less.

The door gave way with a scream and the Commodore was reminded how seldom this ship was on duty when the dusty-putrid smell leaked out, tickling and biting acidly in his nose.

Three dark green blankets were lined up inside of the cupboard, folded orderly - whenever they might have been put in there. Smoker grabbed for the topmost one, quickly bending his head sideways to avoid the gray cloud of dust that was blown off by the motion. In a reflexive movement, his other hand wiped off the top side of the woolen blanket, before he clamped it under his arm.

He stood for some seconds in front of the furniture, thinking -- without acknowledging what he was thinking about, before he slid the door closed and walked back out of the room

-- where he almost crashed into Tashigi.

His Lieutenant observed the green woolen lump under Smoker's arm with wide eyes but didn't say anything. Instead she reported dutifully.

"Johnson predicted a storm coming up."

Smoker raised a questioning brow. Considering they weren't yet in Selva's climate zone, there was still the possibility that one of the dangerous storms the Grand Line was feared for could strike the boat any time. Johnson was supposed to be a good analytic of cloud movements and change in humidity, but with the Grand Line's infamous extremely quick weather changes, his prognosis could only be accurate a short time before the actual outbreak of a storm.

This was worrisome, even for an extraordinary vessel like the Special Prisoner Transport Boat.

Smoker nodded thoughtfully, "Give order to shorten the sails. I'll be on deck in a few minutes."

He realized that Tashigi's stare towards the blanket was supposed to remind him that she would help him in doing whatever he had in mind, so that the Commodore could join the crew quickly.

Strangely enough, Smoker actually didn't want to send her to Portgas. There was this odd, completely inappropriate, feeling of betrayal of trust scraping at him when he thought of the pirate's face asking for the damn blanket.

This was ridiculous, but he still couldn't tell her. Not because of Portgas, he calmed himself. Only because there was no need for her to know.

Thankfully, Tashigi was never too brash in her attempts to support her "Captain" and noticed that she wouldn't get a "special task" this time. She nodded and stumbled away.

xxxxx

He'd lost count of the number of visits he'd paid to the brig today. To be fair, the number was irrelevant anyway, as it definitely had been too many.

It was silent as always down here, the pirate thankfully not talking to himself at least.

Coming closer, Smoker could make out an unusual form behind the bars. It had gotten pretty dark already down here and he'd been obedient enough to not bring a light with him, but he could see enough to recognize that a prisoner lying flat on a gurney would definitely have looked _different_.

The vein on Smoker's right temple throbbed painfully as that oh-so-known feeling of special Portgas-rage grew.

There, the brat sat, slouching, both feet dangling loose on the gurney's side while his head had fallen backward in a position that would have to be painful to the neck. For a normal man, at least. This man here, however, could obviously - Smoker breathed deeply, _very _deeply, muttering curses to himself - _sleep _placidly in this kind of situation.

The Marine was about to barge into the cell, throw his captive off the gurney and back on the ground - into the dark corner that he should never have left in the first place - when he saw the blood.

Not only was the gurney's mattress colored deep red on various places, but the naked upper body of the stupid pirate was spotting a wonderful font of dark liquid, vividly making it drip down from an opened suture.

That was why he wasn't supposed to save a pirate's life, Smoker reminded himself. Because a pirate would be opposing the law even now. If he was told to live, the idiot would die.

Angered he threw the blanket to the side. A dusty cloud rose when it silently touched the ground somewhere on the opposite side of the bars.

Smoker took another look at the pirate. It didn't seem like he was dead already, just fallen asleep on his way off the gurney. Maybe fallen unconscious from blood loss, that wasn't quite clear.

The only thing clear to Smoker was, that instead of caring about the body temperature of a pirate he would care about preparing the ship properly for the potentially upcoming storm.

On his way out of the brig, the Commodore nodded to the guards on the other side of the door, telling them to inform the Doctor of the prisoner's reopened sutures, before he went on deck to do a Captain's job instead of a babysitter's.

xxxxx

It had been only a few minutes, but now that Smoker was back on deck, the sky seemed to have changed completely. Dark grey, almost black clouds hung menacingly low above the sailors' heads, the air felt charged, and distinctively dry and not even the smallest wind was blowing. When a bigger wave suddenly caught the boat, slamming it hard portside, Smoker knew what Johnson was about to say, before the man even opened his mouth.

That didn't change the fact that the first mate gave a loud shout, surely reaching every last sailor in the furthest cabin, "Preparing for storm!"

Only seconds later, the next wave hit the boat, this time a considerably larger one. Smoker spit at the salty taste of the splashes of sea water in his face.

It had begun.

* * *

Ace woke up as his body was hurled off the gurney. Nobody was around, and the pirate was glad about that. Apparently he had fallen asleep. Yet again.

Another movement of the floor beneath his feet, and he realized it wasn't his ill mind playing tricks on him; it was indeed the ship moving.

And how it was 'moving'!

Three years on the Grand Line, and Ace knew exactly what was going on outside. The height of the wave that must have hit the bow right now, the wind speed that would have produced such a wave, the potential storm that could or had already reached the boat. Even from his position deep inside the hull, he could tell they were in trouble.

Well, the sailors, not him. For him, dying on a sinking boat was a rather fortunate option, wasn't it? He bit back a sigh: no, dying was never a fortunate option. He knew that damn well. Still, knowing what was awaiting him in Impel Down if he couldn't flee the boat before, dying _would _be better.

Clack.

His body was conditioned after these last days, and without taking the time to firmly process the sound his ears picked up, Ace's muscles moved on their own. Jumping back on the gurney, fixating the straps and pretending to never have left it, that took just as long as the key rotated in the brig door's key hole. And when the typical noise of the opening door reached the pirate's ears, he was back in the position he had started out.

Shortly after, the nurse entered his cell, accompanied by a young Marine who observed Ace warily.

The woman put a huge black bag on the ground, her eyes not leaving the part of Ace's stomach they were fixated on.

"Did you move him?" she asked her companion while brushing a handful of brown curls behind her ear.

"No, Miss. Commodore Smoker informed us of the opened wound--"

The man was cut off by a "It doesn't matter, I stitched him up only temporarily until we continue surgery, but it should have been good enough so it wouldn't open up if he wasn't moved around. Maybe the Commodore was a bit rough trying to--"

This time, Ace fell into her word, "He didn't do anything."

Only afterwards did he realize how strange this might have sounded. There was no reason for him to come to Smoker's defense. No reason at all, yet still he felt responsible. After all it had been his own tried break-out that had probably led to the situation.

A second later, the conclusion from the dialogue finally struck him: Smoker had been here?!

Then the man must have seen--? _Oops_.

And yet he still didn't -- hadn't --?!

Ace's train of thought was disturbed as a sharp sting burned on his stomach. His nose twitched at the distinct smell of alcohol and, looking down his body, he saw the nurse pressing a white cloth against the wound.

Ok, admittedly that wasn't exactly pleasant. Although, it might have been a bit less disagreeable if the nurse hadn't thrown her full weight against him. Ace could tell it hadn't really been her intention - even if she didn't speak a word of apology - as the ship's heavier rocking now must have unbalanced her.

This might get very nasty . . .

* * *

"Ouch!"

Kalifa hissed annoyed as she was dashed against Blueno by the force of the last wave's hit. The sea was getting wilder and wilder, and she would have to be on deck in a few minutes if she didn't want to risk blowing her cover. Johnson's yell was unmistakable.

And she still needed the cover if she was supposed to get close to the annoying nurse.

Blueno's eyes only left the Den Den Mushi for a split second, long enough to look down on the smaller woman and see if she was okay. Then his stare fixated again on the small yellow apparatus.

"Maybe the storm jams the connection," he finally worded a guess in the calm, deep voice that made it seem like a fact.

They'd been waiting for the call for the last few minutes, and usually those calls were militarily punctual.

Kalifa pushed herself away from Blueno's huge frame and back against the other wall. Concerned, she too looked at the small yellow snail hanging on the wall between herself and Blueno.

The ship had rocked so hard that some of the strings with dried fruits hanging from that wall, formerly hiding the Den Den Mushi, had fallen to the ground. That's why the phone was now openly visible.

Openly visible and _not ringing_, she hissed inwardly.

Agitated, the woman pinned her long hair up with one swift hand motion and used the other one to dig out a silvery barrette from her uniform's front pocket. An experienced grip later, she had fixed the hair-do, and a brief contraction of her facial muscles turned her annoyed look into one of natural worry, just as a crew member during a storm should look like.

After one last meaningful look to her accomplice, Kalifa left the chamber. She had to be careful about every noise she made although due to the current situation it wasn't likely that anybody was present in the kitchen on the other side of the door.

Shutting the door behind herself without making any sound, she then sneaked away to blend in with the other sailors fighting the storm.

Blueno stayed behind, his eyes only diverting from the phone for the second Kalifa left the room. He was a "stowaway" of some kind: entering the ship secretly, he had remained hidden with the help of his Devil Fruit power the entire time.

Pity that the hiding place for the Den Den Mushi, and the only place where he could meet with Kalifa, was the doubtlessly smallest chamber aboard the huge ship - while he was probably the biggest man around.

Compared to being undercover as a barkeeper for months, listening to drunken grown men whining about their tiny, boring every-day sorrows while always pretending to be everybody's best friend, this was _nothing_.

Compared to getting his ass kicked by a clueless teenage boy that had copied his own hard trained movements after seeing them twice, this was nothing.

Blueno twirled the end of one of his hair spikes between two fingers, then leaned back into a more comfortable position against the wall.

Such a position wasn't easily achieved as the ship's rocking unbalanced him again and again.

The next huge wave must have hit the hull with enough force to throw the heavy ship into an extreme angle.

Originally secured supply boxes showered down on Blueno, but he could avoid them just in time with experienced quick movements. This was even more difficult due to the small space, but he hadn't been a member of CP9 for nothing, after all.

The box material didn't break when they hit the ground but some tops fell off, causing an aromatic mist to rise soundlessly into the air. Blueno sneezed at the tickling pepper dust entering his nose. In a reflex he bent his head away, holding a sleeve protectively before his face. And that was when it happened.

When he heard the sound, he knew exactly what it was, and that it was already too late to do anything about it.

With an extremely uncomfortable crackling noise the Baby Den Den Mushi had fallen into the bed of spices and herbs, that - according to the quiet flopping and plopping that followed - hadn't prevented the phone from breaking to pieces.

Horrified, Blueno turned around and his burning eyes took in the image of the various parts of the phone dispersed on the ground; in the midst of them a small yellow snail crept away slowly.

Now, they wouldn't be able to contact the Boss.

* * *

"That hurt!" Ace pouted playfully.

He observed the nurse whose hand moved across his stomach, her fingers holding a very sharp looking needle that hadn't yet touched him - and he was glad about that, but her other fist was slammed repeatedly against his side as she couldn't balance her body. Apparently, the storm continued its rage on the outside.

After some minutes she sighed and scurried away from the gurney, "I can't. Not like that. We'll have to wait until it quiets down."

Ace didn't know if she had talked to him or the guarding Marine soldier, but he answered anyway, pressing forth a "Thank you!" as he tried to pull his lips into an amiable smile. Judging from the reaction he hadn't succeeded.

It was obvious that the young woman couldn't stand him. The way she - if at all - called him coldly "pirate" spoke enough of her reasons. Still, Ace was thankful to her for her work. He could tell that she and the Doc had saved his life, though he wasn't sure he should be glad to survive yet.

At the next harbor hell waited for him, no matter how alive he would be by the time of his arrival. Whitebeard's wide-spread information network wasn't even necessary for a detailed picture of what exactly Impel Down meant. Its cruelty was infamous on all the seas, supposed to warn off the weaker-hearted that strayed to the path of piracy. It hadn't ever affected Ace's heart before, but now, as he could feel hell's heat crawl closer to his defenseless body, he saw everything in a completely new light.

He wasn't afraid though, no, but he knew he had every reason to be.

* * *

The natural disaster had gone as quickly as it had come. As if the sky had finished railing against the Marine barque down in the open sea, when it felt like a year's worth of water supply to a small island had been dumped, the ghastly clouds simply moved on.

Some wooden parts of the destroyed crow's nest swam away on top of the mighty waves, scattering an ominous trail towards the storm's next destination.

Smoker was drenched in seawater head to toes, feeling the wet draining his power. Yet, he couldn't leave the deck just now. Two of his men had fallen overboard when they'd worked on the main mast's loosened hawser. Had those two not refastened the ropes, the whole mast might have fallen victim to the strong wind, and the consequences would have been fatal, but that couldn't comfort the Commodore now.

All those years ago, when he'd eaten his Devil Fruit, he'd known about the negative side effects, crucial as they were for a man of the sea. But it was only in times like this that he ever felt the slightest doubt about this decision.

He hadn't been able to help. And even now, it was gnawing at him how he couldn't leave the ship: simply jump off and dive in to search for his men.

"Sir, you should really--" he heard Tashigi's voice from behind, and ignored her.

There was no way he would leave now. He could change his clothes later. It was idiotic, Smoker was aware of that, but the moment he left the deck was the moment he gave up on finding them alive. That's why he would stay.

The dark clouds were gone, but the day neared its end, and the sun announced its retreat by spilling bloody red all over the damn water.

His men were nowhere in sight which could only mean -- they waited. They waited for him somewhere under that thick carpet of the stilled sea, waited for his arm to carry them out. And he just couldn't do it.

Tashigi's stare held pity, and that was even worse than her admiration.

xxxxx

The diving group returned in silence. They climbed the ladder: one, two, three . . . all of the young men Smoker had sent to search the surrounding sea, all of them and not more.

Wet feet smacked against wet planks. It was silent enough that the single drops of fluid that fell from their hair tips could be heard splashing on the deck.

Smoker nodded to the men and walked away, the heaviness of the water on his body only fuelling that burning, hated feeling of helpless defeat.

* * *

"Are you alright?" Blueno's voice sounded slightly worried though Kalifa doubted he really was. And actually, she should have been angered that he doubted her abilities to survive a storm.

"No reason not to be. I can handle a sailor's job just fine. I made it through the same exam you did, remember?" she retorted, but her voice wasn't as convincing as her words tried to be. She was shivering slightly, the wind had taken her silver barrette, and slimy algae stuck between the fallen down strands. Her white uniform was soaked in cold seawater so much that it looked almost gray and the way her shoulders hung slightly was unmistakably caused by the exhaustion her body suffered from.

"The call?" she asked quickly, unwilling to talk about her own capability any longer.

Blueno simply pointed at the floor, and Kalifa instantly recognized the yellow and orange parts of what should have been a Baby Den Den Mushi hanging on the wall.

Her voice pitched, "And you dare to worry about me handling a storm when you can't even take care of a single snail in a chamber of an area slightly bigger than your ass?!"

Blueno's voice never changed its calm tone when he answered, "We can't communicate with the boss, but we've got to finish the job soon or it will be too late."

"Just wonderful. You know that I'm aware of that, too?!"

"Our best opportunity is tomorrow when Smoker leaves the ship. And I've already thought of plan--"

"So you're willing to contribute a bit more other than letting the snail get away?" Kalifa's eyes flashed feistily.

Blueno continued calmly, "I think we can do it, listen--"

Kalifa's fingers went through her wet, disheveled hair, as she breathed deeply and answered with a nod, "Ok, so let me take a shower first and when I come back, we'll discuss the details."

* * *

After the wind had calmed down, the nurse had finished her needle work on Ace.

Apart from the saving-his-life part of their relationship, the pirate saw no future for them. The woman was just too stubborn. He hadn't even been able to simply talk with her. Not with all the jokes and smiles he could manage - and Portgas D. Ace had a broad variety of those that would surely make every full-time entertainer envious. That meant she must have come across some very awful pirates before. Not Whitebeard pirates, obviously -- but how was a person supposed to know about the difference if they'd never met one?

In all this time since joining Whitebeard's crew, Ace hadn't often been treated like that. So hated, like a really bad person. Mostly, people would shy away from him reverently because of the logo on his back, sometimes they'd tell their greetings to his Captain and thanks for good deeds he'd done. He was very used to being liked by people, honestly.

Well, occasionally, very occasionally, they would be a _bit _less friendly - when they owned a restaurant. Why were people so obsessed about getting paid for a meal anyway? Shouldn't they be happy to fill a hungry stomach, shouldn't the loud smacking sound and the peaceful smile of a formerly hungry man be enough to make any chef happy?

Dreamy, Ace remembered the wonderful meals he'd had on board the Moby Dick. The old man had a refined taste not only in Sake, and he'd brought an amazing cook into his crew. _Hm_--

Unfortunately, being bound to the gurney like this, Ace couldn't wipe off the faint trail of drool that escaped his mouth at that thought. The wet drop on his chin reminded him of how he probably wouldn't taste a meal like that ever again. And the blurry image vanished, leaving him with the reality of a hole in the stomach that was quite literal at the moment.

Things could be much better, indeed. There was only one positive thought he always remembered in times like that: Well, at least, Luffy is safe.

The idiot didn't read the news, and considering the apparent secrecy of this operation - he shouldn't try some stupid save-big-brother action. Yeah, sure, he would do exactly that if he knew. Sighing, Ace realized that he would worry about Luffy until he was really dead, obviously. Because the rubber boy was just so worrisome.

A strange smile crept at his lips anyway. Wasn't this all part of why he loved him?

xxxxx

The brig door's creaking announced a new visitor.

It wasn't exactly a fun place where he lay wounded behind seastone bars, however, the person entering now achieved new standards in carrying a dark mood. Covered in the smell of cigar, salt water and sweat, Smoker, the White Hunter, looked as contrary to his bright nickname as it could get. And Ace wondered what he'd have to expect from the grumpy Commodore next.

Seeing Smoker's portentous form loom large behind the bars was eerie enough to trigger a flight instinct that Ace hadn't felt since the time Marco had tried to be funny and told him of a strategic alliance to be forged by marrying Whitebeard's Second Division Commander to an Elbaf princess.

However, as he entered the cell, Ace decided he wasn't in any more immediate danger than he'd been all this time. Smoker wore the usual stone hard expression carved into his face but Ace could feel that something was different. It probably had nothing to do with him, so as an act of almost-sympathy, he decided to spare the man the fake grin he usually loved to bestow upon people who seemed too fixated on brooding over something stupid.

His gaze slid over Smoker's drenched appearance, taking in scruffy cuts on his hands that looked rather painful and told of how the Commodore had used his own arms to work together with the crew. There was a bleeding wound on his chest, too, from where a small splinter of wood protruded unnaturally. This result wasn't surprising: even a ridiculously strong logia user became as vulnerable as any other human when that much seawater was spilt over him.

Short of better ideas, Ace stated intelligently, "You're wet."

As it happened so often, the Commodore ignored his words and dropped down bluntly on the chair he'd brought with him. His empty eyes, however, locked with the pirate's curious stare.

That strong man looking so worn out, and - unwillingly - leaking an almost palpable sadness, was strangely unsettling. Something bad had happened, Ace knew, but thankfully the man didn't seem to take it out on his prisoner. Even though said prisoner had given him a pretty good reason to earn a beating, Ace reminded himself.

xxxxx

After a while in silence, Smoker asked in that fierce way that nobody would mistake for a real question, "So, he stitched you up again?"

"She," Ace corrected him, "it was the nurse."

A small, honest, smile tucked at his lips, "She can't stand me but she did a good job. Maybe she's a bit like you. Just--"

He bit his lips.

Why had Smoker come here again? If he wasn't going to give him a hell of a beating, or chain him again, or--?

"Good," murmured the Marine in a new, very unusual tone that one might even mistake for 'soft' if it wasn't Commodore Smoker speaking.

Ace nodded. As much as he was chatty by nature, he also - well, sometimes - knew when to shut up.

So he did.

There had been a bad storm and Smoker's mood didn't leave many options as to what might have happened there. And as pirates were just as much men of the sea as Marines, Ace could imagine the pain and guilt of a Captain losing a crew member like that.

And, vaguely, he could imagine the feeling of seeing the one person who's supposed to die anyway, lying very much alive in the brig afterwards. This seemed like some kind of dumb self-punishment, though Smoker's eyes didn't tell anything.

Maybe he was questioning the whole save-the-pirate's-life-idea he seemed to have followed until now?

No matter what Ace's logic put together as to why the Commodore was here, he couldn't help thinking that maybe, though the probability was of course low -- still, _maybe _Smoker had come to check to make sure that his prisoner was still alright.

Like - as if - he was worried.

And no matter how much Ace forced himself to think of the times Smoker had been chasing after his brother and the dangers he might have brought for Luffy, he just couldn't think too negatively about the man after all he'd done - or hadn't done - to him so far. And now there was this downright creepy feeling starting to bump inside of him.

The knot grew even bigger the second Ace acknowledged its existence.

Smoker suddenly stood up, came closer and looked down on Ace -- no, on the white wrapping that indicated where his stomach was a bit perforated. And then, he turned to leave the cell--

Only to come back a moment later.

In his hand he now held a green woolen blanket that contrasted nicely to the wet uniform jacket he was wearing. It looked so "right" in his hand that Ace forgot for a second how strange the action actually was.

Smoker, the surprising bastard, had placed the lump on top of Ace's body and unfolded it slowly.

The pirate had ignored his own shivering until now, though obviously the Commodore hadn't. Tugging at the end to cover his feet, his rough hands brushing the material softly at the chest, Smoker was soundlessly covering Ace with the snugly warm cloth.

It wasn't entirely comfortable, as it reeked a bit of mold and dust, and the latter definitely even tickled in Ace's nose, but all the pirate could see now was a glowing match in a sea of ice. All he could feel was numbing heat, warmth that crawled right through every nerve of his being.

It was so wonderful that it was painful, and the lump in Ace's throat threatened to suffocate him - or worse.

Smoker must have somehow moved his dripping wet head over Ace's face for a second because some fluid must have dropped and was now flowing down his cheek silently.

Again, Ace was left speechless, there were no words to say the right thing now.

And then, in equal silence and his face as unreadable as ever, the Commodore left the cell.

xxxxx

Ace was lying on his gurney, the comfortable feeling of warmth flooding his entire body, but cold regret gnawed at him, too.

The blanket wasn't only giving him much needed heat, it also lay on him heavy as lead, making him unable to move, unable to try another escape.

It was all Smoker's fault.

Smoker.

That man was one hell of a warden.

All the seastone in the world had never made him feel as weak as lying on the gurney while the Commodore tucked him in like a baby, regardless of who and what Ace was. Even regardless of what he had tried before.

The Marine was so painfully honest, standing true to the things he promised that the thought of it alone made the lump in Ace's throat reappear. Gulping, the pirate tried to drift off to sleep, but body had already taken its share of sleep during the day.

It would be a long night.

* * *

The shower had been warm and much needed. Though he didn't feel any strength returning as the cold salt water finally washed away from his drained body.

Ceramic tiles pressed a "Justice"-symbol into the flesh of Smoker's shoulders as he leant against the shower wall with all his weight.

_She _was watching him everywhere and was still so hard to find, it was ridiculous.

And as if the day hadn't been awful enough, he'd just managed to make it even worse by seeing Portgas again. What had he been thinking when he went down there first thing after those events?

The worst wasn't that he had been soft enough to fulfill a damn pirate's damn wish.

No, the absolute worst was that it had felt so _right_. That it had felt so cozy and good to brush the fluffy blanket over Portgas' bruised body, that he'd felt so at peace seeing the brat's grateful look.

That it had actually managed to make _him _feel better.

There wasn't enough water to wash away all that guilt, and Smoker went to bed, exhausted, and clean only of the salt.

* * *

Meanwhile, Admiral Aokiji was walking towards his Inn, pushing his bicycle with the right hand while checking the Log Pose on his left wrist.

He had made it to Selva just in time; there'd been a really nasty – though typical – Grand Line storm raging on the sea just before the island's climate zone. And even with his powers, it might have been quite uncomfortable to ride through that with nothing but a bike.

The alley was lighted by small lanterns on every second house, and so the Admiral had a good sight as he looked for the right sign.

Suspiciously quiet, but still recognizable, patter diverted his attention from the neat house walls back to the road where his eyes met an unexpected group.

A dozen red squirrels were dashing over the cobblestones, stopping to briefly spare a glance at the large man in uniform, before they darted away even faster.

Aokiji's eyes followed them until their small forms melted into the darkness of the garden on the left. His lips formed a lazy smile. For a very short moment, he'd indeed suspected someone might have come after him, although he knew so well that the old pirate captain couldn't know about the Fire Fist case yet.

What a real drag it was, responsibility for a Whitebeard Division Commander.

xxxxx

Ah, finally!

Only a few steps later he could make out the sign he'd searched for: "Squirrel's Nut" -- oh, he should have known.

The Inn looked nice, and much nicer than the shabby small Marine base at the Island's port. A colorful mosaic on the way to the entrance pictured a hazelnut and the sign above the door was held by a wrought-iron squirrel that was attached to the wall.

Here, in the probably cozy lounge that waited behind the tiled entrance, he'd meet the White Hunter tomorrow. And even that notorious growler would probably smile a bit when hearing the new orders Aokiji would deliver, he thought contented.

(tbc)


	5. The Pirate's Debt

My wonderful beta reader xanthos helped me improve this chapter. Thank you!

.

* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 5 - The Pirate's Debt**

* * *

.

A huge hammer smashed against Smoker's forehead with every beat of his pulse, and the pain reminded him all too quickly of the last day's events. Slowly he forced his eyes open. Sleep had been fitful, but at least he _had _slept, even if only courtesy to the high proof drink he'd forced down his throat when he'd realized that he needed to rest and couldn't without some alcoholic aide.

Heaving his body out of the bed quickly - against what his body told him very harshly - Smoker walked over to the cabin window. Fresh air, strangely enough, seemed like a good idea right now.

When he pushed it open, it wasn't as silent as it should have been. Faintly he could hear something that was a bit disturbing.

A sequence of sharp snaps hissed through the air, like a small baby dragon clawing apart its eggshell.

He coughed at the sea's smell, deciding quickly that fresh air had been a bad idea, and replaced the oxygen with cigar smoke as fast as he managed to grab a new cigar from his jacket.

After brushing his teeth, the Commodore decided to check on deck to see what might be happening, although he already had a very good idea as to what might be the source of that sound.

When he stepped outside, the deck was still void of people. Aside from the sailors on the lookout high above, there could only be one person disturbing the morning's peaceful quiet. His unerring steps led him closer towards the source of the sounds, the ship's bow, where he halted behind the foremast to watch his agitated subordinate.

Tashigi had occupied the rather small space, swinging her katana as if fighting an invisible enemy. Of course, Smoker knew _that _enemy well.

Under normal circumstances, he would have stopped her. This particular place was a bad choice to wave about a blade. The rigging stretched between bowsprit and foremast was dangerously low above her head - and although the ropes were made of strong material, a sword cut would still be fatal.

However, the circumstances were far from normal and Tashigi, fortunately, turned into a very cautious person the moment she unsheathed Shigure.

Smoker knew they all had their own ways to cope with the loss. If there was a 'coping' at all. Tashigi would have to learn on her own that there was no 'getting stronger' that would make it possible to defeat that enemy.

The younger woman had been at Smoker's side for all of her career. Since he'd been stationed on land for so long, his Second had never been to longer trips on the seas. This was her first time experiencing how ruthless and vicious the Grand Line could truly be. Even if he tried, there was nothing Smoker could say or do to make it less hurtful.

He was about to leave for the mess when he heard a female voice call out, "Land in sight!"

Using his powers, he turned the lower part of his body into smoke, propelling himself upward, and a split second later Smoker stood high on the main mast, on the few planks that the storm had left of the crow's nest. There, to his right, the good-looking blonde Marine smiled at him, which considering the situation seemed a bit creepy, while an unnaturally quiet Johnson stood to his left. The woman pointed at the horizon in the bow-direction as she handed Smoker the telescope.

Black tube circling his eye, the Commodore took in the sight of their next destination.

There - in the distance, hardly more than a dark dot against wide blue - waited the fall island of Selva.

And after all that had happened, _things could only get better there_.

xxxxx

As the mighty Marine barque entered the comparatively small port, the busy noises from the surroundings cut sharply into the ghostly silence aboard the vessel.

Dockworkers in blue uniforms were scattered all over the place. Some businessmen with concentrated expressions on their faces talked to each other, while fancy women strolled leisurely, their colorful umbrellas spanned despite the lack of sun _or_ rain. Between them, children ran and shouted cheerfully, playing pirates and Marines.

There was a group of Marine soldiers already waiting at the stage: six friendly looking middle aged men in clean uniforms that showed their peaceful lifestyle all too clearly. And the island's lack of piracy.

Which Smoker hadn't needed to be reminded of just yet.

They were earlier than they'd initially anticipated, especially after that storm. All due to the effect of a fortunate current that had guided them very quickly into the destined port. Briefly, Smoker _did _wonder whether Aokiji could have a hand in that phenomenon, seeing how freezing parts of the sea could force currents flowing around the ice, which might have produced a stream powerful enough to guide a ship . . . -but it didn't really matter anyway.

He'd left the ship without paying another visit to the brig, and the idea that he actually _thought _about that, angered the Commodore just as much as a real visit definitely would have.

Tashigi hadn't been all too happy about the task of staying aboard, but as expected she didn't oppose his decision either. Smoker couldn't really tell what exactly made him feel this way, but the twisted knot in his stomach region that had always been a good advisor, had grumbled again. So he thought, watching Portgas closely as long as they ported, would be a good idea. The most surprising thing was that even though the day before he'd seen the brat fall asleep in a very suspicious position, the straps that were supposed to make him unable to move hanging only loosely by him, he didn't _really _expect an attempted breakout. Not only was there no way he could leave the seastone barred cell anyway, but there was also that look he'd had yesterday . . . _No, not good._ Smoker tried to focus, the point was, his musings had other reasons.

He was just still unsure of what exactly was going to happen to the pirate.

Well, of course he didn't really care that much . . .

But, what the hell was the point in capturing a Whitebeard Division Commander that they'd be too chicken shit to execute anyway? Yes, surely the brat wouldn't die. War with Whitebeard had been an idea they'd always tried to avoid, no matter what kind of sacrifice it'd cost the World Government.

Smoker's ever-present frown itched just a bit more. It didn't make sense.

Yet.

At least, he'd have a chat with someone who'd have to be better informed very soon.

Aokiji had wanted to meet him in the city, at a "cozy little Inn" as he'd called it, in the afternoon. That meant he could walk around for half a day.

Only one positive thought occupied his mind now. Maybe the pirates here just hid better?

* * *

Ace realized with horror that the ship had entered a harbor. He'd expected to have more time until they reached their destination! Though, it all made sense. So Smoker's last gesture had been a goodbye-present after all. However, _something_ was strange.

The sounds that Ace could make out just wouldn't fit into the picture.

It wasn't that he'd expected the Devil personally to swing his whip at the entrance to the Gaol, or the surrounding sea to change into a pool of blood with skeleton minions taking the new prisoners to their cells - ok, so he kind of _had_ imagined something like that -- but still, cheerful child voices were definitely a bit . . . _unexpected _to say the least.

Soon curiosity outweighed horror by a mile and Ace almost wanted to be taken outside to have a look at what kind of prison this was. That's why when Tashigi entered the brig, holding a tray with his breakfast, he was surprised to see her without company. The moment she reached the cell bars, her eyes were glued to the blanket covering the prisoner. Ace didn't pay regard to that since more important thoughts currently occupied his mind.

"How long am I going to stay here?" He asked when the woman had done nothing but looked at him for a few minutes.

"You'll stay here for as long as you need to. Don't try anything!" She snorted back but her tone and her face were slightly contradicting.

Their prior talks had always been friendly, and Ace had felt that the swordswoman didn't completely hate him. Of course, all was relative, and it wasn't as if a Marine, especially Smoker's subordinate, would ever think about being "friends" with a pirate. This was stupid Marine logic - but what could he do?

He stayed put on his gurney for another five minutes, until curiosity munched too loudly at his strained nerves.

"Aw, please, dear Tashigi? Tell me! What's going on?"

A supposedly mean look, emphasized by the glasses, darted back at him.

Then the woman sighed silently, her grip around the katana at her hip tightened, and she answered with a sentence that, to Ace's annoyance, wasn't an answer at all, "We'll have the doctor continue with your surgery later today."

Sadly, Ace remembered the white-haired lunatic. He would prefer being exposed to the unfriendly nurse over having to cope with the scalpel-fetish sadist anytime. Though apparently that wasn't his choice to make.

His fingers had unconsciously gripped the woolen material that still lay spread out over his body. When he realized this, the pirate let go of it quickly. The feeling of softness at his fingertips, however, lingered much longer, burning strange ideas into the skin.

This was too weird. And _no_, he would _not _ask about Smoker. Although, of course he _was_ curious about what his strange warden was doing now. Maybe curiosity wasn't even the right word to describe the feeling that confused his ill, exhausted body so much.

Honest, living according to principles and trustful, yes, Smoker was quite the example of everything Ace valued in another person. And so what, maybe he really liked the guy? Surely that wouldn't be the strangest thing that ever happened to him. Sighing, he tried to abandon that train of thought. It wouldn't change a thing anyway.

This wasn't the time to wonder about feelings; it was the time to understand the situation!

Tashigi wasn't helpful at all. Indeed she was a nice woman, unfortunately trained by Smoker, and she refused to give away information. She soon left the brig again, and Ace was definitely not pleased by the fact that she'd taken the very food she'd obviously been meaning to bring him for breakfast back with her again. Honestly, being alone with his thoughts right now wasn't pleasant either.

* * *

The doctor's accommodation was a tiny chamber directly connected to the sick bay, the only special comfort being the private bathroom. The corridor leading towards the room was connected to the crew quarters from where busy noises of the crew members could be heard. The doctor's side, on the other hand, was still completely quiet.

It wasn't the first time this happened, but Tashigi was angry at herself for having forgotten to bring along a lamp. There was no light in the small windowless corridor, and she repeatedly tripped over supply boxes that had been brought outside the evening before, as the doctor, too, wanted to restock some medical herbs and other materials at Selva.

Maybe it wasn't only the boxes; she'd probably tripped over the tip of Shigure's sheath once as well, and was just glad that Smoker didn't see her like this.

The last hurdle had felt surprisingly soft, and Tashigi startled when a warm breeze grazed her ear for a second, almost resembling a breath. It was too dark to see anything, though, and she was probably just exhausted.

When she knocked against the door, Shalaton didn't answer. Maybe he'd woken up already and was taking a shower?

Tashigi waited a moment, her ears trying to discern the sounds from behind the door from those that came from the crew quarters without success.

Slightly disquieted, she left, aware she'd have to come back again later. Definitely with a lamp!

It was bad enough that she had to stay aboard, watching Fire Fist, instead of accompanying her Captain when he was chasing pirates on the island, but it had been a direct order. So, she would have to put up with it, even if the idea of having to watch the pirate's surgery didn't please her at all.

Captain Smoker had had a "feeling" though, that something wasn't right, and those feelings were more often true than she liked. Arabasta wasn't the first time she'd seen it happen, though it probably had been the worst, but--

Her uncertain footsteps slowed down as she walked away, her mind working through the information a bit faster. Why hadn't she thought about that?! Smoker had left her aboard to watch everything closely and here was definitely something strange!

Turning around, and gripping for Shigure's hilt, she approached the silent end of the corridor again.

Within the bunch of keys that Smoker had left her was also the right one to open the doctor's chamber, and after a quick turn she'd opened the door and entered the room.

She grimaced in disgust at the nasty alcoholic smell. Its origin wasn't hard to find as Shalaton and an unhealthy amount of opened, as well as broken, bottles lay accumulated in one poor hill in the middle of the room.

Tashigi hadn't known the doctor drank at all, but thinking of what they had lived through the day before, there was a very small whit of understanding growing in her that generously overlooked the lack in mental strength. Some of the bottles were also definitely not emptied by drinking but had obviously fallen to the ground, probably during the worst of the ship's rocking.

She walked towards the old man who still wore the ridiculous scalpel belt, put the tray she was holding aside, and bent down to check his state.

"Doctor Shalaton! It's me, Lieutenant Tashigi," she called to him carefully.

The man didn't react before she'd repeated the words for the third time, and thrice as loud. Then, however, Shalaton just winced, the movement rather slow, and frowned before babbling hard-to-discern phrases.

"--d'nt remember . . . so windy . . . m'st h've . . . uh--"

The man's face had lost its previously shiny red color and turned almost green as he tried to press out the words.

Tashigi nodded, trying to make clear that he should save his breath until he was indeed able to say something coherent. Frankly, she had no open questions about the situation anyway.

Carefully, she cleared the drunkard's body of the bottles and scattered shards of glass, before she put an arm around his waist to heave the small but heavy man up. Her swordsmanship training had strengthened her biceps and she easily managed to move him the two steps over to his bed.

As if an invisible switch had been pulled, regular loud snoring started the moment she'd placed the doctor's head on the pillow.

Tashigi was a bit ashamed at herself for feeling slight relief when she realized the consequences of Shalaton's indisposition.

Of course, it was _unfortunate _that he couldn't perform the surgery today or so she told herself repeatedly without success. Yes, she _really_ hadn't looked forward to that.

She decided to have Elena check on the prisoner to make sure his condition was stable enough that there'd be no problem with postponing the operation for another day, and that would be it.

Tashigi left the snoring medic and walked towards the mess. She'd have to choose the men to do the chores on land, before she could look for the nurse and send her to Portgas.

xxxxx

Entering the unusually silent mess, she was again reminded of the last tragedy the ship had seen. The men would normally be chatting loudly by now, especially seeing how their moody superior officer had left the boat early. Today, however, they just sat there and almost in unison turned their heads towards the entry when Tashigi entered.

She'd decided to do this quickly, wanting to handle the situation as a professional.

"Walker! Azahi! Jetski!" she started announcing names, and was relieved to see all of them were indeed present.

"Muller! Smith! . . ."

The named marines jumped up quickly, saluted and looked expectantly at her, waiting for further instructions.

"That's all. The rest of you stay on board. You--" she tripped trying to point at two men at the same time, who sat too far away from each other. So she started anew, "I'll divide all of you into several groups for particular chores to do on the island. Listen . . ."

xxxxx

In the end, Tashigi had dismissed almost all of them, seeing how she hoped it might do them good to stroll through a lively town instead of being on this suddenly too small boat.

Only Shalaton and his nurse, as well as Johnson and the two soldiers who'd have their guarding shift for the brig today, stayed behind with her. And poor Kalifa who'd caught a cold during the last night's events and didn't feel like going on land.

While the others, and Captain Smoker, could walk along the land she was again left behind and only semi-aware of all the facts. Tashigi knew that she had a lot of flaws that Smoker put up with, and he never complained. Sometimes, however, she wished he'd be a bit more open with her, and even more trusting.

Seeing that blanket from yesterday on Portgas' body was a sight she hadn't expected. She respected Smoker and she certainly respected every decision he made, it was just . . . why hadn't he told her?

Adjusting her glasses yet again, Tashigi tried to dismiss the strange train of thought. Next thing, she'd start being jealous of Smoker's attention for a pirate. Haha! Ridiculous.

* * *

It was a fucking _hole_.

"Bar" would have been too nice a word to correctly describe the place where Jozu had decided to take a last drink until they would be able to leave this island. The fact that no normal person would err into a place like this before lunch even, was only one of the things Marco couldn't understand.

Something dripped onto his right shoulder. And seeing how it might have been a hole in general but still not a freaking flowstone cave, Marco knew he wasn't particularly inclined to find out the source of that fluid. Quickly he moved on, looking for his big companion.

Actually, he'd started wondering soon after leaving the Moby Dick if it had really been such a good idea to take the Third Division Commander along for this, but after the guy had almost begged and with the knowledge that Jozu wouldn't be missed that much at the old man's side, he'd taken pity. Kind of.

Of course, Marco had never believed a word of the "I can help you if you're in trouble," that Jozu had offered as a reason why he should come as well. Actually, he was sure that the other saw this as a fun trip. If he was honest, that was pretty much what he'd imagined, too.

The memory of the "little adventure" he and Ace had shared when the old man had sent them to Pokeria was still vivid. Their job was done quickly as nobody on the gambling island was willing to oppose the "wishes" of two high-ranked Whitebeard pirates, and so they'd soon collected the ordered sack full of casino coins. Afterwards, Ace had insisted on showing off a bit of his trademark luck, and dragged Marco around the gambling tables.

The boy had indeed won a lot of money, and the fact that he seemed able to predict the occurring numbers at the roulette table was amazing. It also was, however, one of many times that Marco pitied his comrade for his narcolepsy, when Ace had fallen face first into the stacks of coins before him and pushing them on the table and on all the numbers that the small ball running around the circumference of the wheel _didn't _choose to land on.

The casino owner, nervously rubbing his temples in fear of the pirate's reaction, had offered to overlook the obvious accident but Ace as, good-natured as he was, had insisted on being treated like a regular customer. Even though he was a pirate with an infamous eat'n'run attitude, he didn't overlook other debts--that, after all, had shown when he'd joined the Whitebeard crew.

In the end, Marco hadn't stopped laughing until they were back on the Moby Dick at the hilarity of the feared Fire Fist Ace who had won a record sum at the roulette table leaving the island with nothing but his ridiculous hat on him. Later, their Captain would use the coins they'd brought with them for a little "exchange" with his rival Kaidou. Although, of course, Kaidou had no idea about the gold coins vanishing from his latest treasure chest, and their shiny plastic replacement, until long after, but that was a whole different story.

Marco had passed two tables where pirates lay knocked-out by their choice of drinks; alcohol flowing out of tipped over mugs, drool and candle wax mixed into a horrid mess right next to their semi-conscious faces. If the Marines knew of this nest, and if they were fearless enough to actually walk into _this_, they'd probably find some worthy bounty heads among the drunkards, wonderfully arranged, defenseless and easy to put into chains . . .

Jozu sat on the right side, near the room's corner. He was - thankfully - still awake, although the red color on his cheeks hinted that he might have had a drink or two as well. The rather big pirate sat against the grime-black stone wall and held a cup of something that Marco had no particular interest in knowing what it was.

Seeing the fellow Commander, Jozu put the mug back on the table.

"Marco! Has the Log Pose reset?"

"Yes, we can move on--"

"Great! I just can't wait to see that girl our Ace must have found . . ."

Smiling at that thought, Marco nodded and gave a less friendly kick to the drunkard that had suddenly stumbled in the way between him and the shouting Jozu. The human obstacle flew in a wide bow; a blunt smacking announced his crash with the wooden furniture several tables on the other side of the room.

The man shouted something but was quickly shooed by some less drunken residents on that table who'd recognized the Whitebeard pirates and knew better than to look for trouble.

Marco dropped down on the bench next to Jozu, and smiled smugly, "That will still take a while. Next island we'll find us a coating engineer and then we'll still have to cross the Red Line--"

"Yeah, I know," Jozu interrupted him loudly, "but don't you think once we're on the other side we'll quickly hear about where we could find him?"

"Well," Marco grinned, thinking of how Jozu wasn't that dumb after all, "that's what I expect."

Ace _was _a rather flashy guy after all.

* * *

The nurse had entered the cell some moments ago, and like Tashigi earlier, had refused to tell him anything about the current situation. She was fumbling at his bandaging, unwrapping him again - not exactly carefully, but well, he wouldn't complain . . . again.

The guard next to her was a new face for Ace, but those boys seemed to change shifts on a daily basis, so it wasn't surprising. This one here definitely was still only a _boy_, maybe Luffy's age but definitely not much older. The fierce glare he tried to muster while observing the pirate told a detailed story of how terrifying he thought Ace was. The heavy concentration he put into every blink of his eyes and the nervous glances at the nurse emphasized his openly visible insecurity even more. Yes, Ace was sure, this one was new to the whole Marine business and hadn't much experience.

"Banks!" yelled a voice from the brig door, "Banks! Quickly, come over! You can leave the prisoner with Elena as long as you chain him up!"

Irritated, the young soldier looked over at the nurse who only shrugged her shoulders. "He's bound to the gurney, I don't think he's dangerous right now," the woman mused.

"Nurse Elena!" The boy answered almost sheepishly, "That is Whitebeard's Second Division Commander, not some simple East Blue thug."

He searched his pockets and finally fished out a pair of seastone handcuffs. As he was chaining Ace's left wrist, the voice from the door called out again, "Banks! Hurry up!"

Rolling his eyes at his direct superior's shouts, the young Marine quickly slung the second ring of the cuffs around a pole of the gurney before he hurried out of the cell.

The brig door closed again and Ace was left with "Elena". It was only now that he'd learned her name.

The nurse unwrapped the bandages and looked critically at the wounds underneath, as always she didn't tell Ace anything about it.

"Looks like you'll survive a bit longer," she finally voiced coldly, more to herself than to Ace, but information was information.

The pirate tried to lift his head and peek at his stomach, but the annoying strap against his neck was again in the way. The only hint he could get about his bodily condition was the grumbling that had started soon after Tashigi had left together with his breakfast.

Sighing, the nurse grabbed her black bag when a hand came out of the middle of the air, reached for her shoulder and violently threw her backwards. Ace heard her scream in shock as she fell hard on the tiled floor, and he turned his head to look at where this ghostly hand must have come from.

A huge bearded man stood there, one that Ace had never seen before. His black hair was twirled into two horns, which combined with his body measures gave him the appearance of a bull. Somehow, he'd managed to get in without using the door. Who knew what crazy kind of Devil Fruit he was using, maybe something to turn invisible? However, the most important thing was that he wasn't wearing a Marine uniform -- and that was good news. As unexpected as it came, apparently someone was here to try to break him out, and Ace felt nothing but gratitude. Breathing deeply, he took in the sight that had returned hope to his current predicament.

Next, the stranger picked a lighter out of his pockets, and bent down over the woman on the floor. The flame was activated quickly, and as he moved his hand further down, he scorched the brown curls that framed the nurse's shocked face. The disgusting smell of burnt hair arose quickly. Elena was obviously too shocked to even scream anymore, and her eyes widened as the lighter was moved further down her body. The man grabbed for the white clothing, obviously intent on burning her even more.

"Hey, hey!" Ace called out, unsure why the man was acting with such violence. There were surely people aboard this boat who'd be more of an enemy than the little nurse. Even if she was indeed annoying.

When he'd gotten the big man's attention, as he'd turned and stood up again, Ace continued, "Whoever you are, thank you for coming here, but there's no need to hurt the woman so badly. Actually, she kind of saved my li--"

The bull man had moved over in a split second, too fast for Ace to even see the steps, and interrupted his talking when he banged a huge fist into his jaw. The pirate could hear the crack of his skull against metal, as his head was jammed violently into the gurney's mattress by the force of the hit. Good thing he hadn't lain on the tiled floor!

"Shut your mouth," the man ordered impassively before he turned back to the nurse.

Ace felt unconsciousness knocking at his inner door, telling him what a good idea it would be to simply drift off compared to what a truly painful idea staying conscious would be. That huge guy there, however, even if he seemingly didn't intend to kill Ace - as he had avoided punching his stomach - also didn't behave like a rescuing friend.

Troubled, he fought off the lulling feeling, grinding his teeth at the effort. This was bad. Warm fluid filled his mouth, surely blood, and he spit it out before it could flow down his throat and make his condition even worse.

The stranger was already standing over the nurse with his lighter, but the woman had somehow regained her composure and was now at least struggling, throwing kicks at him and screaming for help. However, judging from the force behind the hit he'd taken, Ace knew she had no chance against that man.

Why was he trying to hurt her with the puny lighter anyway? One heavy punch or kick and he could certainly end this very quickly. Ace didn't wonder for long, when some logic tied the loose ends together. This was about framing _him_! Inwardly kicking himself for not being skeptical earlier, he considered his options quickly; letting that woman die without at least trying somethingwasn't one, that much was clear.

Hastily, his left hand wandered down the side of the mattress to touch the pole he was tied to, in his hurry the Marine boy had used _that _pole to chain him to. His good luck hadn't left him completely, it seemed!

Ace opened the straps the same way he'd done so earlier, his speed even faster than the last time.

His fingers then carefully grasped the long piece of metal, as he tried to unlock the pole from the position he'd forced it into. It was still canted into the frame, just barely holding the bed together as he'd arranged it after he'd managed to break it free from that frame the day before. Yesterday, when he'd realized he couldn't continue without the gurney falling apart pretty suspiciously, he'd stacked it together like this hoping nobody would see what he'd done.

In the end, it seemed that he hadn't reopened the damn suture for nothing.

Now that he'd detached the pole's end again, the whole bed fell into pieces and clashed in a loud clatter to the ground.

"Oops," Ace murmured while holding his revolting stomach with one hand. He had just enough time to grab the free metal rod, holding it up like a spear, before the huge stranger stood again before him with a stern expression on his face.

"Why do you have to trouble me now?" The man asked with unhidden annoyance in his voice.

"Can't let you kill my savior now, can I?" Ace offered with a challenging grin, which had taken quite some effort to be mustered considering the state of his jaw.

"Stupid Whitebeard brat, you could have lived through this with less pain," the man declared shrugging, before he turned invisible again a split second later.

The next thing Ace saw of him was a heavy foot pressed against his own naked chest, and the kick catapulted the pirate a few feet across the room. His back smashed against the seastone bars with a blunt thump, but the waves of pain washing over him felt like his innards were torn which was an unwanted reminder of just how frail his body currently was.

* * *

Tashigi hadn't realized it until she'd walked into Shalaton's room for the second time that day. She'd come to check how he was feeling but the way from the door to the bed was full of obstacles. So she tripped over the remnants of the bottles that still lay on the ground and had, while trying to balance her body, caught sight of a tray she'd left situated next to the other hurdles The very tray that she should have long left with the pirate in the brig! Shocked, she realized that she'd completely forgotten about handing Portgas his food.

Normally, she wouldn't care about such things but Captain Smoker had shown particular concern for Fire Fist. After confirming that the Doctor was still sound asleep, she picked up the tray, and left the room to pay a second visit to the prisoner.

When she came closer to the brig door entry, things were not entirely as she'd expected them to be.

Both guards stood there, their forms looking somehow stiff and focused on the third person in the group. So focused, that they were rather inattentive to their surroundings. The red color on Banks' face was even deeper than the blush his colleague sported. They waved their hands up and down in what looked like a ridiculous attempt to provide Kalifa, who leant loosely against the railing opposing the brig door, with cool air.

The blonde woman had her uniform buttons opened down to the curvature where the jacket tightened so much that it looked almost dangerous for her oxygen supply. Her head was bent slightly backwards which let her untied hair flaunt tantalizingly in the soft breeze. Her face was flushed a bit, and her blue eyes shined. Tashigi was a woman herself, but she had to admit that this was the most erotic display of a fever she'd ever seen.

Nevertheless, why was the ill Kalifa not in her bed and curing that disease?

"What's going on here?" Tashigi asked once she'd reached the group.

"Ahh, Lieutenant!" The guards saluted, obviously embarrassed about the situation.

"Kalifa was unlucky because it's gotten too hot in her room and she needed some fresh air. And we just helped her . . . uh, cool down," explained the older one of the Marines, discomfort heavy on every word.

"Sh-she's r-r-_really _not feeling well, L-Lieutenant," Banks stuttered, backing up his partner.

Tashigi nodded, but her serious face demonstrated her disapproval, "So Elena has already finished looking after the pirate?"

The guilty expression on Banks' face was an answer already. The young Marine stuttered nervously, "She's st-still in there, Mam--"

"Enough," the swordswoman narrowed her eyes as she moved towards the door behind the guards; "I'll go and look myself."

Just when she was about to push down the door handle, Kalifa suffered a dizzy spell.

"AHHH!"

Shocked at the surprising groan from behind, Tashigi let the tray slip out of her hands again. She turned around and saw the other woman collapsed on the deck. Her skin had turned strangely shiny and . . . _smooth _- and she wasn't moving anymore. The guards hurried towards her lifeless body, trying to help her up again, but she slipped through their hands like a slick sardine. That left Tashigi no choice but to walk over there, too, and help the obviously overtaxed men.

* * *

The bearded stranger had grabbed the nurse at her throat, and was pushing her against the tiled cell wall, when Ace attacked him from behind by jamming the pole in the back of his knees so that the big man fought to keep his balance. He should have fallen from a hit like that, but apparently either Ace was too weak or the guy was just too damned strong. So his plan of ridding the assaulter of his shoes so that he'd be affected by the seastone ground as well failed - because he just didn't fall down.

The man turned his head slowly, "What kind of attack was that supposed to be? You should have used that chance for a hit against my head. You certainly won't get a second one." He let go of the nurse's neck for a moment to turn around completely and focus on Ace instead.

"Seems Plan A failed," the pirate answered honestly and wiped a new stream of blood from his mouth.

As was to be expected, the big man used that invisible-trick again, which to Ace's surprise wasn't real invisibility after all. Now that he concentrated a bit more, he could fathom if not clearly "see" that he was just _incredibly _fast.

Hopefully, that speed was some weird power, because if the guy wasn't using a Devil Fruit he'd have no idea what he was up against.

When the fist smashed against his chest again, Ace held the pole protectively before his body. He'd bet on the chance that the other one wouldn't try to kill him by touching the wound on his stomach and that's why he'd target either his chest or face again. Simple logic, but it worked. The hit had still connected with abnormal speed and thus sent the pirate flying again. However, landing on the opposite side of the cell, Ace wasn't as knocked-out as he'd have been by a direct hit. And certainly not as hurt as his opponent expected since the guy turned around to address the nurse again.

Ok, so Plan B.

Well, Plan B? Thinking up a Plan A had been difficult enough, Ace just wasn't used to fighting people while being in a state that made even simple moves so freaking difficult. Apart from the strain his injured condition didn't help not to mention, the seastone cell and that damn handcuff that was still closed around his left wrist which drained his power even more.

But wait . . . he looked down at his hand, where the cuff dangled. It wasn't completely tight around his wrist, but tight enough that he couldn't just slide it over his fist.

Grinding his teeth, Ace looked over to the nurse and the attacker.

The big guy was currently paying no attention to him because he was supposed to be lying unconscious after that hit. The cell door was left temptingly open. It wasn't entirely impossible that he could make it out of here. The man would probably catch up and beat him to a pulp anyway, but it might be worth a try. The problem was . . . that woman there. Ace wasn't one to bother thinking in terms of "good" and "bad" too much; life as a pirate had enough of both, and he was content with that. There was just this stupid thing that he valued highly: repaying a debt.

Now, that woman over there had been a pain in the ass, but she'd saved his life. So, fleeing and leaving her to die wasn't the "right" thing to do, no matter how he tried to look at it.

Gulping, he looked again at the seastone ring that encircled his wrist. There _was_ a way to get rid of it, after all. It just wasn't a pretty one.

Ace breathed deeply as he slid his hand in between the two bars of the restraint behind him, then tentatively - and, most important, very silently - he pushed the iron pole that he'd taken off the gurney in the space between one bar and his hand.

_Oh, this was going to hurt . . ._

The following snap wasn't quite as loud as it felt to Ace. He twitched just a bit and suppressed a scream, as the cold, hard metal he'd levered against the bar dislocated the bone that connected his thumb from the main bone of his hand. At least, he hoped it was only dislocated.

He drew back his hand carefully and placed it into his lap. Sinking his teeth deep into his already bloody lip to avoid making any noises, Ace pressed the burning thumb unnaturally close into his opened hand, so he could finally slide the seastone cuff over his fingers. And with every hot-cold pain that the movement sent through his nerves, causing his sight to blur just a bit, Ace thought up a new form of torture he'd deal the bull guy for making him go through this.

Apparently, the assaulter really hadn't noticed what Ace had been doing. He'd strangled the nurse into unconsciousness and was currently placing burn marks on her clothing. He'd probably been highly concentrated about doing this because it was supposed to look like something a fire logia user would do - and there was after all _some _difference between Fire Fist Ace and a fucking lighter.

Ace heaved up his sore, mistreated body, ignoring that it felt like someone was slowly pushing needles through his nerves. His anger was fuelling a fire that had nothing to do with his Devil Fruit power, and every ounce of pain he felt now wasn't registered as a hurdle but added to that growing burning sensation that would find only one form of release. His gaze hardened, promising bloody retaliation.

The switch had been flipped and one thing was decided: someone would die here today. He grabbed the seastone cuffs with his functioning right hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and blood from the reopened wounds on this part of his body, trickled to the floor.

"You," he called out to the big guy who was still working with his lighter on the nurse's unconscious body, "will stop that _now_."

When the huge man turned around, Ace challenged him and with every syllable dripping with malice he said, "If you want to play with fire that badly, there's only one suitable opponent for you!"

(tbc)


	6. Resemblances

Two awesome people helped me with this part. Super special thank you to sventastic who volunteered to jump in as beta reader on very short notice and who then did a really amazing job. Thanks to your help this chapter has improved a lot! And thank you very much, xanthos, for all the help with this as well, especially for 'fighting' with me through the first version of that action scene! I'm very, very grateful that you two put so much effort into helping me improve!

I'm truly sorry about the delay of this update; and I do feel quite guilty about the last cliffhanger... Well, I think this time I managed to avoid making another 'real' cliffy...? The story is still ongoing though. ;)

.

* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing  
**

**Part 6 - Resemblances**

* * *

.

"I tell you, it's true! The captured Whitebeard pirate _really _is Fire Fist Ace, the Second Division Commander!"

Fleet Admiral Sengoku was hurrying towards his office, passing the deserted floors of the Intelligence Compartment, when he heard two soldiers gossiping about classified information _loud enough that it could be heard through closed doors_.

"Can't be! Who would have done this? That guy's insanely strong and a Logia user! You can't even _touch _him under normal circumstances!"

"I know, I know! See, there's always seastone, right?"

"Hm . . . yes, maybe. But, come on! If that was all there is to a Whitebeard Division Commander, they'd all have been caught long ago!"

Sengoku hissed inwardly. He knew about those wide-spread "rumors" on how the Intelligence Compartment was the biggest assembly of blabbers in the Marine. _Rumors? Tsk._ His eyes narrowed. The truth was, he could clearly imagine the men sitting behind that door, eating cake and drinking coffee while knitting scarves--

"Hm, right. Then, ehm, there are also some fearsome new guys out there! Just think about those Supernova rookies! Oh, by the way, have you heard what Eustass Kidd has done in the capital of--"

"Yeah, yeah. But see? I tell you it can't be! Why would other pirates help us capture a Whitebeard pirate? Not even a rookie would be stupid enough to incur _his_ wrath!"

"Haha, you're right!"

There was a short pause - long enough for the Fleet Admiral to deduct the thought process of the officer behind the door before hearing its conclusion.

"Say, if this information was indeed true wouldn't it be rather bad for us, too?"

Silence.

Sengoku's fingers itched with the urge to grab the door handle. If he did, he could dash into the room and get the point across that those idiots should at least try to discuss information that was supposed to be kept _secret _a bit more _quietly_. What stopped him from doing so was the thought that soon, that particular piece of information would change status from "highly confidential" to worldwide news headline anyway, leaving any penalization of the current indiscretions as only a matter of principle. Although principle _was_ important to Sengoku, there were too many other things at the moment needing his attention.

Truth was, that rookie Shichibukai applicant had really brought a lot of trouble and it wasn't certain that the formidable newly gained power overweighed the massive amount of said trouble. While the rest of the government-loyal pirates sure had their fun at the thought of how enraged Whitebeard would be about the news, the Fleet Admiral was very cautious about the situation. The mighty Yonkou had gathered a great following and his forces could probably stand on equal grounds with the Marines'. There had, after all, been a reason _why _direct confrontations with him had been avoided at all costs up until now.

The other Admirals hadn't been pleased about his decision either, some had openly spoken against his plan while others had nodded in a way that still showed their discomfort. In the end, the counting majority had grudgingly agreed to risk the venture.

It was also problematic that he had to rely on Aokiji and Smoker, of all people, to secure Fire Fist's transport. Seeing the tremendous power of the captured pirate, however, and the danger that he might free himself if Blackbeard hadn't really disabled him in the way he'd told the Marines when he handed Fire Fist over, Sengoku actually hadn't had any choice. Those two Marines _were _the most fitting counter measures against a Fire Logia user, even if he didn't trust either of them.

Smoker was a powerful Marine Commodore, but he wasn't easy to use in strategy games since he refused to play a puppet's role. As a successful fighter against piracy, that man was best when left alone; without much more precise orders than "take care of scum," he was always working by himself. Smoker would hand over pirate after pirate dutifully, but he wasn't fit for cases that required some _political finesse_. "Smash and kill them all in the name of Justice," was his obvious motto and not, "collaborate with the lesser evil to destroy the bigger one." That's why Sengoku hadn't told the man any details of what he was really planning.

On the other hand, Aokiji was maybe even worse.

While Sengoku knew how Smoker thought and acted, and could - more often than not - at least predict his moves even if he couldn't influence them, Aokiji's number was very hard to get. However, Sengoku was called the Buddha for a reason and he _knew _that the lazy Admiral wasn't a mindless chess piece either. The fact that Aokiji had concealed his, doubtlessly existent, soloist actions so well that Sengoku had never seen any proof to support his suspicions was just as worrisome.

As far as Sengoku had analyzed the two men's characters, their personal goals or agendas didn't oppose the merciless fight against piracy. That's why those two were, despite all the headaches handling them caused the Fleet Admiral, the best choice to make sure the arrested pirate would indeed arrive in Impel Down.

Sengoku had reached the end of the corridor where his office was located behind two huge white doors. If everything went according to plan, his secretary wouldn't be waiting alone in the anteroom. He scraped his chin and let his fingers trace the length of his neatly tied beard, as if adjusting it to hang exactly at the center of his body, before he stretched out his arms and pushed open both doors in one go.

Now, he'd have to deal with the uncomfortable end of the deal he'd made.

"Ah, hello, Mr. Fleet Admiral, sir!" Rumbled a deep and disgustingly sugarcoated voice.

The pirate with messy hair and a dreadfully untended three-day beard, which displeased Sengoku even more than the unruly hairdo, jumped up and took off his hat for a formal greeting.

When the Marine nodded reluctantly, his visitor continued, his tone warbling with every word. "As you wished, I've come personally to enter my new position. Let us work well together from now on, _Boss_!"

Sengoku could barely hide how surprised he was.

This level of respect and servility from the pirate was certainly unexpected and new. It was slightly suspicious, too -- but how often had he wished that the Shichibukai would exhibit just a tiny bit of such behavior? This applicant had not even hesitated to board the Marine ship that brought him here, whereas most others would have insisted on using their pirate ships. Thanks to that fact the man arrived very quickly, using the current between the Gates of Justice.

Sengoku's features relaxed a bit and he suggested that the pirate to follow him into his office, where they could continue their talk in private.

* * *

The way from the port into the city led Smoker along a noisy street where even more people strolled than he'd seen at the docks.

He'd started pondering in earnest whether or not he should take off his jacket when the _tenth _good-natured tourist had asked him for directions and he'd had to explain yet again that, no, he didn't know where to find the look-out tower, nor which direction the entry to the chestnut tree forest was located or where the starting point for guided tours could be found.

The problem was that, like usual, Smoker had passed on wearing a shirt under his uniform jacket and if he stripped off the giveaway garment he'd walk around half naked just like P-- Anyway, he was on duty and it should be visible that he was a Marine in case there were civilians who needed help with something other than directions.

It seemed that the Marines on this island had ungracefully deteriorated to tourist guides. Smoker decided that if he couldn't find some pirate scum soon, he'd use his time to do something about the inappropriate behavior of his colleagues. He'd already seen the local Marine base near the port and he'd just have to go back there later. The commanding officer obviously needed some help drilling his sissy underlings.

While more concrete plans for spending his day formed in Smoker's head, his walk had finally led him to the entrance of Selva City. To the left and right of him houses with clean white facades and carmine roof tiles aligned, and only from time to time the colorful trees of a small front garden obstructed the view of the house behind. Smoker halted at a particularly big one where two oaks towered high, their leaves dark yellow and bright red. Fire red.

Smoker wouldn't normally ignore the uneasiness he felt, however this time was different. This time, he couldn't figure out the cause of his gut feeling that something was going to happen that would obstruct justice.

At least his darkened facial expression now served as a means of keeping the annoying tourists at bay. A small pigeon perched on the bloody red treetop was the only being left in Smoker's personal range. Although, for some reason, he felt as if even that animal was disturbing.

Moving on, a flash of pink crossed the corner of his eye, instantly catching his interest. Smoker spun around and his searching gaze held a mix of curiosity, terror, and annoyance. He only knew one person with hair of that color. However, his "dear friend" wasn't supposed to be on vacation on _this _island . . .

xxxxx

_"My dear Smoker, Hina is not amused. Hina wanted to enjoy herself in a calm, nice resort, but because Smoker didn't clean up his mess in Arabasta properly, Hina had to work on her holidays, too."_

Attached to the fax had been a damage report and a stack of bills for repairs on a certain resort island where his colleague apparently had been fighting Baroque Works agents.

Smoker had thrown the Den Den Mushi overboard _only after _reading the short note that was scribbled on the first of the bills, in thin lines and almost unreadable, but the message was clear anyway:

_"Hina knows Smoker is understanding of Hina's wishes because Hina has also always been understanding of Smoker's wishes, too."_

No need for her to add "for privacy," indeed. Grumbling, he'd let Tashigi file the bills and reports under his own responsibility.

xxxxx

So that woman there couldn't be Hina but Smoker followed the direction where he'd seen the pink hair anyway. A person that looked suspiciously like"'Hina in clothing that Hina would never wear," was right before him now.

Long, dark pink, strands of hair fell over her back. She wore casual clothing that blended in perfectly with the other tourists here, and the only outstanding thing on her was the green hat on her head. To anyone who didn't have Smoker's overdose of dumbass D. pirates with ridiculous hats, such a simple accessory most likely wouldn't have been as disturbing.

Smoker realized that he was staring daggers into her, and she must have realized it too. The woman turned around and the two watched each other in shock.

He, because she looked like the combination of his two worst nightmares now, with that pizza in her hand and pink hair framing a face that was sprinkled with crumbles of food.

Why _she _looked at him with the same horror wasn't clear to Smoker. However, as soon as the shock seemed to have vanished the woman ran off, followed by some other men that Smoker hadn't realized until that moment were her companions.

Whatever the reason, her behavior was as suspicious as her looks and the Commodore decided to follow. At the next crossing, he saw her hair flow to the left but when he turned around the corner he bumped into a horde of children standing in front of a tree and following their teacher's explanations on squirrels.

The woman had vanished without a trace and Smoker didn't even know why.

xxxxx

It wasn't much later that he found himself in front of Selva's main tourist office. There on the information board beside the entrance was also a small section with general danger warnings and some posters of wanted pirates that seemed to be chosen rather randomly. Smoker stepped forward and narrowed his eyes as the woman from before looked back at him.

"Jewelry Bonney, hm?" He murmured towards himself.

The bounty sum of 140 billion meant that she might be able to put up an interesting fight after all. Somehow contented with the discovery, Smoker ripped the poster off the wall. It seemed that he was the first to discover that there _was _a wanted pirate on this island and he didn't feel like sharing his fun with those tourist guide colleagues.

Before turning to go and look for his new prey, his eyes strayed back to the wall. Between some low-bounty head and the well known Eustass Kidd another fool grinned at him.

Smoker frowned.

The picture had captured those freckles perfectly.

There was a broad smile on the pirate's young face and his dark eyes looked directly at the viewer, gleaming with pride and joy. Obviously, he'd had fun having his picture taken by the Marines.

It must have been an older poster because the bounty was only correct after someone had added another zero to the reward by hand.

It didn't matter. It was outdated anyway. _No need for it to remain here._

Smoker grabbed for "Fire Fist's" poster, ripped it off quickly and stuffed it together with Bonney's in his pocket.

* * *

"Zehahaha!"

Blackbeard's laughter could probably be heard even behind the huge office doors. However, Sengoku wasn't irritated since he was very used to pirate manners after years of successful cooperation with the vexing Shichibukai.

"You really didn't believe me!"

Sengoku didn't flinch. He had wanted the power that was strong enough to beat Portgas D. Ace in a fight on his side. That didn't mean that he would simply believe everything he was told about what this new ally had supposedly done. "I'm cautious," he stated calmly.

"Boss! Even if that boy _could _flee, he will never be the same again." Blackbeard's eyes narrowed and for a moment the friendly facade dropped. "I had time for some more action than just a regular punch . . . but I think I already told your subordinates when I handed him over." The smile was back in place.

"Let's hope you didn't overdo it," Sengoku murmured. _It would ruin the plan if he died now._

"Zehahaha! Commander Ace is a good-natured idiot but he's strong!"

The Fleet Admiral looked at the laughing Shichibukai rookie again. It was still hard to imagine that this man had defeated the infamous Fire Fist.

"Although I'd enjoy a visit to the prison to see how someone lives on after seeing that darkness!"

"That's not of your concern anymore. Just remember to come to the assembly I mentioned earlier. As long as you do the jobs we give you, you can do as you please for the rest of the time. This is our agreement."

"Yes sir." The pirate bowed and grinned mischievously before he walked out of Sengoku's office.

* * *

_. . . A suitable opponent?_

Without showing it to his self-proclaimed adversary, Blueno only wondered why the Whitebeard Division Commander was still conscious after taking so many hits in his injured state.

Had he been too soft on him?

Fire Fist stood before the cell bars, breathing heavily. His skin looked sickly pale, even more so while contrasted by slick, black locks that clung to his face, soaked with sweat. His whole body was a bloody mess, covered with bruises where it wasn't covered by bandages. Blueno knew, however, that the white wrappings around his stomach hid an even deeper and much more serious wound. In fact, the pirate wasn't supposed to be able to move around, let alone fight.

"I'm not here to kill you," Blueno tried to reason with the man. It was a problem if he had to attack an enemy who was both badly wounded and strong when he wasn't allowed to kill him in the process.

His words elicited no other reaction than the young man grabbing for the gurney's pole and holding it like a sword.

Blueno couldn't understand. Of course, _he _didn't enjoy killing the woman. He felt pity for her. Sympathy even. They were both on the same side after all, fighting against evil. Her death was a sacrifice to be made, and maybe if she knew what greater good it brought, as a devoted Marine, she'd even have willingly agreed.

So why was Fire Fist trying to save her?

A cold breeze, then a flash of metal, and Blueno had to jump aside quickly or he'd have been impaled. The pirate was faster than expected.

Not fast enough though.

When the next attack came from behind, Blueno turned around just in time. The pole crashed against his chest with so much force that he actually had to fight for balance. It was fortunate that the pirate's improvised weapon didn't have a sharp edge. Blueno concentrated for a second, took a step back and a half turn to the right, preparing to counter the move while keeping his opponent in the corner of his vision.

Fire Fist's legs shook lightly but it was still obvious to Blueno. That surprisingly strong hit must have cost him the last of his strength. He looked like he was fighting to stay standing. _Why couldn't he just drop it; why not simply stop?!_ Fire Fist wheezed loudly through damaged lungs. His whole posture looked clenched - as if he was straining every muscle in his body to keep his head and shoulders straight, to not let his legs give way and fall to the ground.

_No matter how hard I hit him, he stands up again._

Strangely enough, the pirate's eyes didn't seem to belong to the body that was barely able to stand. Those weren't the eyes of someone who was about to lose. They were annoying. Blueno had seen those eyes before. Raw, suppressed anger flared up within him. Rage, unleashed by that unpleasant memory. Those challenging eyes were laughing at him again, although the person they belonged to _was inferior_. A ridiculous, inappropriate challenge.

_How dare he think that he can actually win a fight against someone with superior skills? Against superior motives? He's mocking me._

Blueno saw the face of the hated Strawhat Kid again . . .

_Everything would have been different, if only that boy hadn't been--!_

Blueno whirled back, his leg accelerated by the momentum, and - forgetting to hold back on using the Rokushiki skills - he sent his strongest kick with un-dampened force towards the trembling pirate. _Smash, destroy, kill--_

A bone cracking.

A scream.

Blueno's foot still stuck in Fire Fist's upper arm as the man had been smashed against the wall to their side. A quiet sizzling noise could be heard, and then a seastone tile fell off to the ground. It was in this moment that Blueno realized he had been trying to kill his opponent in earnest.

Shocked and concerned about the mission, he scanned his victim.

Fire Fist looked up to him, fortunately still alive. The twitching grin on the very mouth that had made _that noise _just a moment ago was the most bizarre thing Blueno had ever seen.

_He looks as if he was glad for being treated like this?_

Blueno's foot still stuck deep in the pirate's flesh. Before he worsened the captive's state any more, he'd have to draw back his leg--

Something, however, felt strange.

xxxxx

It had worked even better than Ace had imagined. His calm opponent had lost his rational, observant, cool for a moment. He'd been angered. Ace didn't know why and he didn't care either. He'd sacrificed a thumb, he'd sacrificed an arm, possibly a rib as well, but now he had to act quickly or it would all have been for naught.

The moment the foot had crashed into his left arm, he'd wound the chains of the seastone cuffs around his enemy's leg even though it meant he couldn't avoid taking the full force of the hit. That was his problem now.

Ace tried to push his battered body off the wall. The material where his shoulder was pressed up against wasn't seastone anymore since the tile had fallen to the ground. It was cold, rough, mortar but it _felt _much warmer than the cursed material against the rest of Ace's flesh. There was no draining feeling anymore; instead he could feel strength returning to his muscles. Trying to lean a bit more towards the left, he fought off a fit of dizziness.

_Damn weak body, just a bit more!_

He looked up, but the black spots before his eyes hindered his sight. He grinned anyway. That bull guy sure had lost it right now, he'd taken him on seriously and had fallen right into the trap. Truly a pity that he couldn't observe his expression right now.

He felt the weight on his left arm vanish, so the leg had been pulled away. _Now or never!_

Ace took a step to the side, away from the wall. He picked up the pole he'd dropped a moment ago. His sight finally returned, revealing a confused expression on the big man's face.

Grinding his teeth, Ace darted forward. His fingers clamped around the makeshift weapon as he drove the iron pole towards the bull man's head. His enemy's first reaction wasn't any different than before; obviously the guy thought he could just evade what was coming.

The impact cracked loudly throughout the cell when the pole connected under the bearded chin, yanking the big assaulter off his feet. Quickly, Ace jumped on the fallen figure's stomach. Big hands tried to reach up from the side and stop him but they were too slow and Ace managed to smash the pole yet again into the angular face before him with as much strength as he had left.

The man wasn't so weak that a few hits would render him helpless, but it seemed he _had _eaten a Devil Fruit and the seastone exposure was much more effective on him than it had been on Ace. Why that was, Ace didn't know.

The metal in Ace's hand rained down upon his opponent repeatedly. His own palms were sore from the friction caused by his tight grip on the pole. The other man, however, had some kind of barrier to stop the attacks from being as deadly as they should have been. Or maybe Ace was just too weak?

The moment he stopped crashing the metal into his face, this opponent would stand up, untangle the cuffs from his leg and fight again, Ace was sure about it. Sweat ran into his eyes, the salt burned him. The strength in his arm diminished with every hit he dealt, and his other arm was already useless.

"You understand the situation?"

The deep voice startled Ace. It sounded ragged but the message was clear. Ace looked into dead eyes that seemed to see right through him.

_He's going to stand up again, beat me and kill the woman -- of course I understand!_

"It's futile, pirate."

This time Ace smirked viciously. "You sure have a superiority complex, huh?" He breathed heavily, and laid the pole aside. "You have some crazy ass techniques, I get it." Ace's stare never left his opponent's face as he drew back his arm and heaved up his body. "But you know, I've got this embarrassing trick, too." His whole face distorted, as his aura became even more menacing, "Thing is, it's so embarrassing that you won't ever be able to tell someone of it, I can't let people know I'm using _this_--"

Ace's knuckles cracked, then his fist crashed into his opponent's surprised face. Ace used his whole body weight to back up the punch's destructive force and the barrier shattered beneath it. There was the sound of a nose breaking and then silence.

The source of that move was a rather painful memory to Ace. Years of torture - labeled as training, random beatings - labeled as "showing the right path" and a certain Marine's sure-kill technique had branded itself not only into Ace's cheeks but his mind as well.

"Thanks, gramps . . ." he muttered as he drew back his fist from his victim's face.

Ace looked over to the nurse, Elena, who still lay unconscious on the ground. He had to hurry and get them to a safe place before the bull man awakened.

As he stood up, his right leg gave way for a second - _Shit, not now! - _but he managed to hobble over and pick up the blanket from where the gurney had fallen to the ground. He then wrapped it around the nurse's tattered body.

Sighing, he picked up the human bundle and swung her over his right shoulder. The added weight still caused him to wince in pain despite this side being the one with less broken bones. How long would he be able to stand or walk in this state?

Worn out as he was, Ace couldn't even muster the strength to think properly about how to act next. He simply hurried out of the cell and towards the brig door, his right arm tight around the female body he carried with him. When Ace pushed the heavy door open, he didn't know what would await him on the other side.

As soon as he'd walked through the frame, he was blinded by daylight. Ace blinked, trying to adjust to the brightness of the sun that he hadn't seen in so long. Squinting, he walked straight ahead until he reached the railing. He sucked in the fresh air blowing from the sea, and suddenly his stomach rumbled again, as if the stilled hunger in his lungs had reminded it of its own needs.

It was a problem; he had to flee as fast as possible. There was no way he could take a detour to the galley. No way. His stomach groaned again, louder. Ace shook his head, his hunger would have to wait.

_Bang!_

A shot echoed and Ace quickly jumped aside to avoid the bullet.

_What a nice reminder._ He was aboard a Marine ship. He really shouldn't be too surprised that armed forces would try to stop him from leaving! The problem was, who was it? Were they accomplices to the bull guy? He couldn't leave without the nurse as long as he wasn't certain whether or not she would be safe. Otherwise the whole fight just now would have been pointless.

Jumping back towards the brig door, Ace barely avoided the next shot. The woman on his shoulder still didn't seem to wake up even from that kind of noise.

Ace stumbled a bit as his feet bumped against something on the ground. He looked down; luckily, in the shadows of the wall he could open his eyes a bit more, and see -- it wasn't a hallucination, right?

There stood a tray that he knew well. Most of the food hadn't fallen from the nutritious hill on the plate. He quickly bent down, grabbed for the plate with the bread and shoveled it down his throat greedily. There was a stabbing pain - his jaw didn't approve of being used again - but he ignored it, as the feeling of finally filling his stomach was more important.

Another shot was fired. The dish fell out of his hands as Ace grabbed the unconscious body on his shoulder tightly and ran. His brain was finally able to do some work. He avoided the bullets and thought about an escape. He realized that he couldn't just jump off the ship and walk along the landing dock, so he darted back to the railing, trying to discern what was anchored underneath.

_Aha!_

A few feet in the direction from where the rifle was fired a jolly boat was fastened. Ace heaved himself and the woman he was carrying over the metallic rail, and clawed his way towards the small vessel attached to the ship. His left arm was unable to hold the railing, so he had to swing over to the side with just his right arm and leg. Apparently, his new path was in a more fortunate angle, hidden from the rifleman, as the shooting had stopped. The rusty metal scratched and burned under Ace's palm but his mind was too focused to even register the pain anymore.

He reached for the jolly boat and quickly jumped into it. After untying the ropes, the vessel fell into the water with a splashing sound. Ace thrust one of the paddles against the big ship's hull, and the small boat rocked away. New shots could be heard and something that sounded like a siren -- or was it a human yell? No, that couldn't be . . . could it? If so, those were some admirable vocal cords-- but Ace had more important things to worry about.

Soon, the jolly boat had quickly turned around the next dock, and was well hidden behind another ship.

Ace sighed. It felt like he'd held his breath the whole time. Now he breathed deeply, panting, and tried to use his eyes more. It was a busy harbor, just as full of ships as he'd have imagined after hearing so many voices this morning when he'd still been in his cell.

It didn't look like the port of the world's greatest prison.

* * *

Tashigi heard Johnson's yell when she'd just arrived at the sick bay. Kalifa finally lay on the bed, and the lovesick guards were still competing eagerly for the most idiotic way to provide their ill crewmate with more comfort.

Alarmed, the Lieutenant darted out of the room and towards the deck. Shigure was ready to be unsheathed when she pushed open the last door. Her searching gaze quickly found Johnson, who was climbing down the main mast, with a rifle slung over his shoulder. His face glowed red from exertion as he ran towards his superior.

"Fire Fist! Just now, he fled!" the first mate exclaimed breathlessly.

Tashigi instantly looked around. "What?! Where--?"

"He took the jolly boat!" The man pointed in the direction of the other docks, where cruise liners and merchant ships were anchored side by side.

She had to take action quickly or she'd risk losing the pirate's trail. "Ready the boat for immediate pursuit!"

"Ehm." Johnson eyed her insecurely. "We don't have enough crew members aboard."

Tashigi felt like sinking deeply into the ground. How dreadful her inexperience at sea was! "Another jolly boat?"

"There isn't another one. Actually, the one Fire Fist escaped with must have been accidently left there because this ship is so old. Jolly boats are useless on the Grand Line, especially on the special streams between the Gates of Justice with their--"

Tashigi interrupted Johson's explanation. "I see. Then hurry and get us a small boat! We'll follow the pirate at any cost."

Johnson stormed off the ship to do as she asked. They just had to confiscate another jolly boat or any other small vessel in the port, it shouldn't be a problem. Suddenly a thought crossed Tashigi's mind.

What about the nurse?

Instantly she ran towards the brig, threw the door open, and hurried to the cell.

The image that awaited her was so dreadful that she had to take a deep breath before looking closer. Behind the open cell door a fight must have taken place. The gurney's pieces lay on a small hill behind the bars. The whole ground was spattered with dark dots and smears--_blood?_--and the seastone cuffs lay on the floor next to another large pool of blood. Elena, however, was nowhere to be seen.

_Just what had that despicable pirate done to the nurse?_

* * *

Ace had paddled the small boat out of the port. He started to feel the pain his body was in, and heat and cold battled on his skin, both equally uncomfortable. Every thrust of the paddle sent a shiver down his spine, as he couldn't avoid moving his stomach or shoulder or whatever else was just a bloody, broken mess instead of a functioning body part.

He couldn't steer the boat out into the ocean. In his current state, he had to try to get on land quickly, and hide somewhere on the island before he fell unconscious.

Almost automatically, his right arm rammed the paddle into the water. The tiny vessel passed by mighty cliffs. Leaves rained down from above, and the sea was covered in a colorful carpet of them. Ace, however, was in no condition to conclude coherently what kind of island it might be.

When a small bay appeared behind the last rock, Ace turned the boat to the coast. There was a strong current flowing that seemed to oppose his steering direction. Sweat ran over his skin as he tried to overcome it with what was left of his bodily strength. When he'd finally reached a shallow place, he picked up his human baggage and jumped off the boat. It wasn't a bad thing when the boat drifted out again, following that current. Maybe this way they wouldn't be found too easily here.

As soon as Ace's feet touched the soft ground, he felt nothing but the draining water around his calves and his knees gave.

Clenching his muscles, pushing, forcing forward arm after arm and leg after leg, Ace dragged his body the rest of the distance towards the beach.

_Move! Move!_

His mind did nothing more useful other than giving the simple command, but surprisingly he indeed managed to reach the dry ground ahead. Ace only wanted to fall over on that fine-grit sand and rest for at least a week - but he _couldn't_.

The beach bent upwards in a small slope, and above there was a narrow line of bushes that would block them from view to anyone looking. At least it would make a better hiding spot than the beach itself, so Ace took another deep breath, grabbed the nurse again and crawled upwards on his knees.

His mind was fixated on carrying himself and Elena into those woods. He wasn't even capable of thinking about what he would do when he'd reached his destination. His sight was still blurry and he didn't realize that it wasn't because of his unadjusted eyes anymore.

Fire Fist Ace was so used to burning hot and feverish that he couldn't recognize the unhealthy heat rising in his body as the sign of danger it really was.

_Move! Move! . . . _

(tbc)


	7. His Spirit, Still a Fugitive I

Huge thanks goes to kawaiikittey who beta-read this part! She's a star, and the reason I could post this now.

I know it has been forever... but neither am I dead nor this story. Thank you for your patience with me, I will finish this and it hopefully won't take too long anymore. :)

.

* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 7 - His Spirit, Still a Fugitive* I

* * *

**

.

"This is no place for you to die."

It's Whitebeard's voice, old and wise, loud and proud - and ridiculously close to almighty.

At first Ace thinks it's mocking, then he realizes how it really feels: low and warm and almost charming; it passes his ear, and dives right in, crawls further and deeper, reaching to his very soul, setting it-him- on fire, _burning_-

xxxxx

Ace opened his eyes, seconds before his face would have hit the muddy ground. He could smell rotting leaves right under his nose, but caught his fall in time. He fixed his irritated glare onto the colors before him, bright colors molding to a sort of orange. Were those bushes?

_Oh yeah, there we are again. _

He blinked a few times before he realized that his eyesight wasn't going to improve; at least, not much. He felt heavy and strangely light at the same time; nasty shivers rippled through his body. Something wasn't right. Well, something as in something additional to the many other "somethings" that were just plain _wrong_.

There also was the weight of the nurse on his shoulder. As reassuring as it was to feel her still there...his shoulder blade ached, his back ached, heck _everything _on that body side down to his toe ached, and while it was great that he could still distinguish _where exactly_ it hurt, that certainly wasn't any consolation.

If he remembered correctly, his goal was to hide behind the bushes. They were probably only waist high, but Ace, cowering deep down on his knees, with the weight on his shoulders pushing him even further into the ground, was robbed of all his energy. The simple bushes appeared as towering, insurmountable hurdles. He felt like a fly with torn-out wings, very distinctly feeling the nerve bundles twitching where only useless stumps were left, knowing there was a huge, hungry, spider approaching from behind, while the wall before him was high enough that he could not see its top.

Faced with that, with no strength left, and all hope crushed, most would see no other option than to give up. Ace though had lived his whole life facing obstacle after obstacle, always, somehow, achieving the impossible. Maybe that was what kept him going. His hope might have been gone just a few days ago, but his will was unchanged, stronger than any fear, or rational thoughts. If his wings were torn he would become an ant, and continue crawling; if his legs were broken, he would become but a worm and slither, face first, through the dirt.

He'd bit his lip subconsciously, as his heated mind – unbidden - pictured the scenario vividly for him, but Ace revered in the coppery, bitter, taste of life for only a second. He pushed forward, into an opening that definitely was not there, right through the thorns and branches cutting his clothes, his face, but not his spirit. His spirit was well beyond the bush already, and did not look back to the body that was still fighting its way through while leaving behind small sacrifices of flesh and garment.

Yellow. Red. Pretty colors they were. As soon as the tearing and biting stopped, they melted into one blurry image.

xxxxx

Luffy's shirt is orange although not much of its original color can still be determined; his hair is unruly and muddy, just like _he _is, basically. However, now he sits in the corner and he's calm.

It's quite disturbing considering he's not asleep and, well, it's Luffy.

The woman puts the snail back on the cupboard, and from Ace's side he can't watch her expression but he knows she's probably frowning because that's what she usually does whenever the three of them are in the same room. Luffy's still staring at the phone, _as if he was pondering something._

Ah, and there's the painful facial expression again! It seemed he really _is _thinking.

It had been the old Marine geezer again. Asking how his grandchildren were doing. Promising to come and visit again soon.

When the woman had asked why he hadn't returned at Ace's birthday, there had been a short pause. Then the stupid laughter again. In the background, his subordinates had screamed about some cannon ball smashing their quarters. No apology though.

It's not as if Ace wanted one. Ace isn't sad; he's not even disappointed. The thing that gets him is the boy in the corner.

Lips pouted, eyes determined: Luffy's sulking.

The fool hasn't asked _once _for his father to come to his own birthday. So how he's acting now might be hilarious, but Ace decides it isn't.

For a moment, Ace feels a little pounding in his chest, muscles contracting at places that can't be trained, places he obviously doesn't use very often. Of course, deep down, he _knows _what it is and he cherishes the awkwardly good, suffocating, feeling. _Luffy_-

He jumps from his stool, and with one leap he's in the corner, tackling the rubber boy, who had started up with his intent clear on his face.

"Ace," his brother bursts, "I'll make gramps apologize."

"Wait a minute, Luffy," Ace interjects, "It's no big deal, really!"

But the words seem to infuriate him only more. If he wasn't still such a kid, he'd appear intimidating by now.

Ace knows what comes next. "Yeah yeah, I know, your fist is like a pistol," he teases before the boy can speak.

Luffy still seems unforgiving and Ace thinks that it's gone on for long enough. He doesn't want him to be angry for his sake, not with anyone. There's a radiating smile that's supposed to _be _in the boy's face and Ace doesn't want to be the reason it's not in place.

Ace bends forward and ruffles the dark hair. "Really, it's okay." Whispering he adds, "You think I'd have enjoyed playing Marine Boot Camp on my birthday?" He bites back all bitterness and revels in the thought that indeed having his brother there with him and caring for him was more than enough.

Then, he smiles.

xxxxx

Ace's lips felt dry. Leaves whirled over his face, danced over his chin, tickled at his nose and softly caressed his jaw until they were blown off again. Into his nostrils surged the heavy scent of decay, with it's disturbing combination of disgusting rot and cozy warmth. A smell he faced too much lately. It gave the feeling as if death itself might taste sweet despite all bitterness. Was this what this whole island was about?

An eternal second passed in which Ace's thoughts rolled through his hurting head, storming through the empty storage rooms where there should have been ideas on how to solve his current predicament, all culminating in an earth shattering over-all realization: _Shit_.

Ace turned around, stemmed his arms back into the mud and raised his head. His vision still hadn't fully returned but he tried to look around. The forest was almost noisy, too much rustling, sizzling, scrabbling, and so his ears were no good in finding out if people were approaching.

He pressed a bit more into the mud, until he sat upright and had a view on the beloved ocean in front of him: free, wide, blue, behind an orange bush wall. To his side were huge trees, like long, dark creatures, covering the sky with leaves in impossible colors.

A path meandered through the coppice, leading to a small hill. Not a very high one, but it would probably suffice for a dangerously good view over the area. Of course, it was only dangerous if he was seen. Ace studied it a bit, even if only to avoid drawing the logical conclusion just now. They'd have to move again.

The corner of his eye caught a motion where the hillside started, _something _very quick and lithe. Ace's gaze darted back, following the shadow: a creature was there. Quick movements, lean muscle, spotted fur, and a menacing aura…a leopard?

Ace blinked again, but the spot was empty. However, his instincts screamed at him that he was being watched-by something dangerous.

A fist was rammed into his shoulder blades, gaining his attention through a quick stab of pain. The hit had lacked in strength but it had nevertheless made contact with his already beaten bones. _Ouch._

"You-!" The female voice quickly rose high but then died down shortly after. Maybe the nurse had realized it was him and not the bull guy who'd attacked her on the ship?

"Mornin' miss," Ace replied dryly.

The nurse directed a disgusted look at him. "You abducted me," she said, a bit more calmly this time.

Not only because of the headache was Ace not ready for more of this mess right now, so he simply nodded. "Yeah." The woman hated him anyway and there was no reason she'd believe a thing he said about what had happened. Thinking about it, there was _nobody _who'd actually believe that kind of crazy story. Believe that a strong guy broke into a Marine ship's cell and without trying to free the captive pirate would rather attempt to kill a simple Marine nurse - really, who would, especially if it was the notorious pirate telling this?

Thanks to this stupid decision of trying to 'save' the woman, he was now in even more trouble, if at all possible.

For the first time since he'd fled, he looked at her. From under the blanket a face with furrowed brows and dirtied cheeks grimaced at him, a burnt hairline was framing it and only on the back of her head some more brown locks seemed to have survived. On the other end of the blanket, mud had glued leaves to her once white shoes. Overall she now looked more like a forest witch than a Marine nurse.

_And she behaved like it too. _Her lips twitched again, her nose ruffled, and then the nurse asked, "What are you planning?"

For a second a bizarre grin split Ace's face. _If only I'd know that . . . !_

Maybe he should have _said _something instead. Maybe that face wasn't _exactly _reassuring to her. Maybe she was just too exhausted, but without further saying a thing the woman closed her eyes again.

Ace sighed, feeling dizzy. _Shit, A _nurse _would have been a good aid right now . . ._

He squinted, his eyes loosing focus somewhere in the distance. A bright blue sky blazed above him, dotted with dark, fast moving clouds . . . Ace fell back. _Just for a moment._ Just a moment longer, lying here, then he would move on.

* * *

Yelling. One voice shrill and angry.

Another low-pitched and pleading.

Smoker was good at many things, one of them was being like a rock through the small waves of misconduct, misunderstanding, of quarrels and everything else that involved civilians. As he moved through busy streets, eyes darting left and right, searching for a pink-haired, pizza-munching, ridiculous hat-sporting pirate, he was trying to be oblivious to the raging middle-aged woman on the balcony a few steps onward in his walking direction.

Unfortunately, ignoring generally wasn't as easy to Smoker as it might have been to other people, his enhanced power of observation, always active and scanning prohibiting total ignorance. So while he'd decided to ignore the quarrel over there, he'd still recognized that the woman held a fine crafted, probably expensive brown flower pot with two shaky hands, a pitiful violet orchid grew in there. Blue veins emerged visibly on the skin of her hands before those let go of the pot, throwing it against a man on the ground, who, according to the woman's loud voiced and equally not easily ignored opinion deserved to rot in hell.

"I honestly don't know, darling, I swear!" The man's voice conveyed so much uncertainty and fear that Smoker would have almost pitied him if it wasn't for the fact that Smoker never pitied anyone. Not even the innocent flower which had become the faultless victim of the lover's spat.

"Don't you dare call me darling you, _you_," the woman paused, obviously trying to find a fitting word, something brutal, hurtful and yet it seemed to Smoker that she had led a good life before since she hadn't come across people who might have enriched her vocabulary in that respect.

_Bastard, shithead,_ . . . oh indeed, Smoker could have helped her out plenty. He preferred not to think about what that said about him. Continuing his walk, since the couple's private banter held no direct interest to him, he had almost passed them.

The man's voice was louder now that he was so close. "I don't know where that woman came from! I only helped the little girl, she was all alone and lost and hungry-"

Another pot flew. "Oh but that _little girl _had really grown fast thanks to your selfless aid!" A pause, then crumbles of potting soil landed on Smoker's shoulder, before he heard a third pot cracking on the ground. "I trusted you!" the woman screamed again.

Smoke tendrils snaked up from under the Commodore's jacket and took care of the dirt on his clothes. _Love, trust, people getting all emotional, and for what? It always ends like this. Broken hearts, broken pottery-_ He turned his head to blow the last remaining dirt from his shoulder.

"But you can still trust me," the desperate husband pleaded to his wife.

The woman finally lowered her voice, but Smoker knew that change in intonation. It meant that her burning anger had turned into sour disappointment and sadness. He hurried to get away, this was getting worse and he didn't need that kind of mood right now. _Just stop the whiny emotional crap! _

Smoker knew something like that wouldn't happen to him. For he had learned that there were things you could count on more than the fleeting feeling of a warm smile turned to you. _Most smiles were false anyway!_ More than an understanding gesture that made you feel at home. _As if there was something like 'home' to a man of the sea!_ More than even tears of gratitude in the eyes of an enemy-_Dammit._

Rules were the anchor of his world. He had erected clear borders in his mind, and thus there was perfect order: one side with the good things and the good people and one side with the bad things and bad people. He couldn't confuse them because they were labeled clearly. That's what a brain was for, and that's why the heart should be ignored in those matters, or better yet, always. Of course, he'd had his weak moments as well; just remembering the Strawhat boy and his ridiculous "I don't hate you!" statement brought a sour taste to the back of his throat.

But he'd learned from those. He'd learned more about the rules he should follow. He'd realized that he couldn't trust other people's rules. It was his own he should put all his confidence in, his own rules, his own judgment, his own justice. Yet, whether a pirate liked him or not didn't do a thing to change the fact that he _was _a pirate, and in every way such a man had labeled himself clearly to be standing on the bad side. It was simple.

Smoker loathed admitting that he was probably not thinking about the Strawhat boy anymore but a certain other . . .

The wife said something again, silent enough that Smoker couldn't hear anymore from where he walked. "To think that if I'd known you were into pink hair, I'd have even colored mine for you . . ."

xxxxx

Not much later, still lost in annoying thoughts, Smoker spotted a new, not yet expected person. One hand on his bike, the other fumbling at his vest, Admiral Aokiji leaned in a relaxed posture against a blue painted fence only a two houses ahead. His eyes were hidden by the sleeping mask the man always carried with him.

Smoker had suspected more than once that the thing was useful to the Admiral as anything else but a sleeping device. He'd imagined there to be small slits that the man would use to spy on his surroundings while feigning a blessed sleep. Now that he approached him, however, he heard a snoring sound: a short grunt from the depth of the throat that languidly rolled out and turned into multiple little sizzlings in the nose. It was the kind of sound that he was not going to think a healthy man would ever _want _to feign.

Stomping his feet a bit more forcefully into the ground, Smoker hoped he would be loud enough to bring the Admiral back from sleep. When his action didn't seem to attain the effect, he kicked a stone from the ground and right against the man's bike. The metal frame gave a light clack upon the collision and Aokiji immediately jumped to attention as he lifted his sleeping mask and scrutinized the source of the noise for any potential damage.

For a moment Smoker caught himself wondering if the bike was the other man's weak point, the thing he cared about or if even that might be just another of the things he did for show, a game to make people believe they knew him. Then Smoker focused on him again, because, games aside, the man was competent and there would have been a reason for their meeting on this island, a reason that surely wasn't connected to the touristic nature of the place no matter how hard Aokiji tried to make him believe that.

Finding no scratch on his beloved bicycle, the Admiral turned his attention to the man before him. Muffling a yawn, he greeted, "Ah, Smoker?"

A cold nod was the answer he received.

"I hadn't expected you to be here already. We were supposed to meet in a few hours time-" Watching the other man fume at his relaxed behavior, Aokiji quickly offered with a friendly smile, "let's go to the inn, I'll hand you your new orders there."

Smoker's brow shot up, his face reddening in the process. "What the hell? New orders?" The reaction was to be expected, as the man had already hated being ordered away from the search for Monkey D. Luffy, the pirate he'd chased since before his return to the Grand Line. He didn't like orders and thought he'd made that clear enough already.

Grinning slyly, Aokiji clapped a hand on Smoker's shoulder. "Yes, new orders, old boy, from the Buddha personally."

The mention of Sengoku's nick name was enough to see an expression of unwillingness hush over the grumpy face, but in the end Smoker simply sighed and nodded. "Ok. To the inn. Now."

Aokiji nodded and showed the way.

xxxxx

The Admiral slurped his tea without a worry in the world. Leaning back into the comfortable couch cushion, the man held out a basket with sweets to Smoker. "Take a bite. I know you don't like sweet things, but these are made from hazel nuts, they might be savory enough for your tastes."

Smoker's glare pierced right through the basket. Aokiji pulled back and rubbed his hand subconsciously, as if it had been hurt by the look alone.

"Just tell me what's going on!" Smoker finally burst, unnerved by the man's ritual fun in delaying his message as much as possible.

Aokiji put down his tea cup and fidgeted a letter out of his pocket. Stretching out his arm he held the paper under Smoker's nose but didn't loosen his grip, then said, "My friend, you will like these orders so much that you really could consider being a bit nicer to the man who delivers them."

Smoker quickly took the paper, ignoring Aokiji's comment not completely by honoring him with a puff of smoke from the one cigar currently in the corner of his mouth, and then opened the seal.

_How come you know I'll like it when you couldn't have peeked into it, sly fox? _The way the Admiral's information network worked was indeed intriguing and more so was that nobody had ever seen any proof that he had such.

The next minute was filled with silence, as Smoker opened the letter and read through it. His brow furrowed more with every word and by the end he looked up to his companion in utter disbelief.

"See, I told you you'd like it!"

Running a hand through his hair, Smoker stared down at the paper again, surprise still on his features. "Why now?" he asked, not caring to explain what he meant since the other had obviously already knowledge of the letter's content.

"Don't ask me. If you're that curious, you should call Sengoku if you wa-"

Smoker shook his head, vehemently. No, calling that man was never a good idea. Who knew what ideas he would get of ordering him around from now on if he deliberately _called _him?

Still - this . . . Smoker's fingers touched the parchment and travelled over the ink.

It was really true.

He was allowed to take his leave from the Fire Fist transportation. He was allowed to get back to his search for the Strawhat. No, he was even officially _ordered _to catch the pirate and his crew. They'd risen in importance, or danger, just as Smoker had predicted would happen when he had seen them for the first time.

It was what he wanted. Although rather, he admitted to himself, it was what he _had _wanted.

For some odd reason that he refused to think about, he had grown quite used to his current task, to the point that he had wanted to see the end of Fire Fist's "journey". He could not quite put his finger on it but he was unable to feel the relief about the news that he knew he was _supposed _to feel.

Nodding, he folded the letter again and stuffed it into his pocket which by now started to bulge a bit due to the amount of papers he'd already stored in there.

Not that he would consider getting rid of any of those.

"Is that everything?" he finally asked.

"For now, I guess so."

Smoker stood up, nodded reluctantly towards Aokiji and left the "Squirrel's Nut" without another word.

The Admiral watched him in curious amusement. If this was Smoker's "happy face" then it had not exactly been something to look forward to.

Seeing Smoker glare burns into the pigeon that crossed his path by the door, Aokiji remembered that he also had another meeting to attend, one that was equally important and equally fun.

_Well . . . Hopefully._ Yawning, he rose from his seat.

(tbc)

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* * *

_._

_* The line (and inspiration for the chapter) is taken from Dante's Divine Comedy, Inferno Canto 1 _


	8. His Spirit, Still a Fugitive II

Big thanks to kawaiikittey for beta-reading again!

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* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 8 - His Spirit, Still a Fugitive II**

* * *

.

He was afraid.

Banks had been with the Marines for a few months now, and in that time there had never been any pirate he'd found to be more fearful than the _Commodore _in charge of his latest mission. It was obvious that the man would never hurt anybody - except for pirates, thieves, bad guys in general - but he was unpredictable and it always seemed like he had to control some kind of vicious inner rage, a burning subconscious anger at everyone and everything that would otherwise probably suffice to destroy whole islands.

It was all just Banks' imagination as the man had not yet shown what it would be like if that anger was to be unleashed. It was _really _just his overbearing fantasy that made Banks fear things that probably would never happen.

_Hopefully_. Because here he was, being sent by Lieutenant Tashigi to deliver the news of the pirate Fire Fist Ace's escape. Banks' breathing was becoming quicker as he ran through Selva's streets without many ideas of how to find Commodore Smoker. It was madness! The Lieutenant hadn't given him more insightful hints than to "look where pirates would hide", but Selva was a tourist island full of people, not a secret pirate hideout!

And, even worse, all this time, he had been imagining the Commodore's reaction to the news.

No, he certainly would have avoided being the one to deliver the message if there was a way. But unfortunately, he was the least experienced of the crew left aboard-and so he was decided to be the least useful on the hunt for Fire Fist. Gulping, Banks thought that fighting the Whitebeard pirate's hot flames bare handed might have been less terrifying than talking to the Commodore about their failure, because at least he would be allowed to fight back in the first case.

While his eyes scanned the many faces around him for the one he was looking for, Banks noticed-too late-the thick root growing out of the ground before him. His foot managed to slip right into the small opening underneath, and the old tree that the root belonged to was easily stronger than the young Marine; thus their encounter ended with the latter landing face first on the sandy ground. Muttering tame curses, because he didn't know the vile ones yet, Banks spat out the dirt he'd inhaled accidently.

Before he could heave himself up, the boy caught sight of a head with short white hair and a pair of broad shoulders wearing a very familiar jacket. Smoker!

The Commodore, looking as gloomy as ever, smashed the poor door of an Inn closed, before he continued in the direction of the city center.

Banks tried to yell but he was still too far away and his voice trailed off unheard. "They should have sent Johnson . . ." he muttered to his pitiful self.**  
**

Exhausted, he pushed his body up and grimaced at the pain he felt in his foot. He'd probably sprained it. Reaching towards the root that was responsible for his fall, he realized the rigid old wood wouldn't move an inch. Cautiously, he untangled his foot and stood up, gasping. A probing step on the ground confirmed his suspicion concerning his foot, yet he had no choice but to move on. Clenching his teeth, Banks walked in the direction where he had seen Smoker; running was out of the question now, but he tried to go as fast as he could.

The closer he got towards the next crossing, the louder he heard discouraging voices, confused and chaotic, mixed with some fearful screams. That was all it took for him to become even more considerate of his damaged foot and he slowed down.

The yelling didn't stop, rather seemed to come closer, accompanied by stomping feet. Nervous, Banks approached now _slow _step by even _slower _step, as he had become very, _very _considerate of his wound that seemed to feel _much _worse all of a sudden.

In the next moment a crowd stormed around the corner and almost overran him. Men, women, children, their faces distorted to grimaces of fear,

Banks had a feeling which direction he would have to look for Smoker first and it was not one he would have liked to go. What was happening behind the corner? Smoker might have already found Fire Fist and be involved in a fierce battle with him for all Banks could guess.

Maybe then, he could just go back . . . ?

Lowering his head, the boy tried to find the courage not to just run with the other peasants. He marched forward and, finally, lurked around the corner.

Indeed, there he stood, Smoker, the White Hunter, surrounded by a scene of destruction. A few unconscious, badly battered, men lay on a pile behind him, while the man's attention was focused on a woman up front. _She must be strong_, Banks thought, _if she's still standing._

"You will leave this island on my boat, pirate!" Smoker spat. A giant smoke fist rose from his body.

Banks eyed the woman again. Pink hair, green hat, crooked smile. She smirked before she replied, "You're way too old to get me on your boat, geezer. Although," and there she laughed deviously, "I _could _do something about that!"

But Smoker had already unleashed another swirl of smoke tendrils grabbing for her from behind while the threatening fist still remained in place, and apparently he had managed to catch her by surprise.

Banks quickly moved forward now that the thread was minimized, and spoke up. "Commodore Smoker, I have a very urgent message from Lieutenant Tashigi!"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" was the grumpy response.

"It is about the captive-"

Upon hearing that, Smoker turned around and eyed Banks intently.

The young Marine shuddered under the gaze, aware that he had yet to relay the worst information, remotely aware that Smoker was already in a less than bright mood, and even more aware that he would interrupt something. "Th-the captive, he's-s-s"

"Quit the stuttering and spit it out already!" Smoker's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Banks wished to be back at home, badly.

The Commodore was grabbing him by his shoulders, shaking angrily.

"FLED," Banks pressed through his clattering teeth, while inwardly making his peace with the world, closing his eyes and waiting for his life to end.

However, nothing of the sort occurred. Blinking, Banks opened his eyes again to find Smoker still staring at him, disbelievingly.

After a moment, the man loosened his grip on Banks shoulders. "So he did," Smoker said although it had the ring of a question rather than a statement.

"We don't know exactly what happened but he's taken the nurse with him. Lieutenant Tashigi has started the pursuit."

Banks was surprised by the expressions he seemed to see in Smoker's face. There was anger, clearly, but even more surprise, suspicion, and if he wouldn't know it better he'd think that he had seen a trace of concern when the man cast his eyes down for a moment, thinking. Smoker had indeed been the one to understand Fire Fist the best, or so they all had thought, and obviously he hadn't anticipated the man fleeing at all.

Although, Banks had to admit, from what he had seen when he'd been in the cell, the pirate hadn't looked like someone who had the strength left to do so. And it wasn't as though they had been careless around him either; something about that flight had been strange, but it wasn't the time now to ponder on that. First, they had to find the pirate, capture him again and then they could question him all they wanted.

There was none of the rage that Banks had feared he'd have to face now. However, Smoker abruptly turned on his heels and went to leave. His smoke tendrils dissolved from the pirates they'd been holding.

Banks stared in disbelief at the moving back. "Commodore Smoker," he finally found the words to ask, "What happens with those pirates?"

Absent-mindedly, Smoker rummaged in his pocket, took out a piece of paper and threw it towards Banks. When it touched the ground at Banks' feet, the folding opened slightly and with a glance the boy could discern the letters "Wanted" on it; then Smoker answered shortly, "That's Jewelry Bonney and her crew. Worth a hundred forty billion. Take them into custody." As soon as he'd spoken the last syllable the man walked easily, disappearing around the corner as if he'd just ordered Banks to pay his bill in a café and not to arrest a whole pirate crew on his own.

Banks eyed Bonney carefully. There really wasn't much he could do considering he wasn't even armed other than with the short dagger in his belt. "Y-y-you," he said with a shaky voice before he gulped and finished the sentence in one word, "areunderarrest!"

He wasn't intimidating at all and he was painfully aware of that.

Bonney didn't even look in his direction; her eyes followed Smoker's back as he obviously hadn't spared her another look let alone thought. Her face, first full of surprise, soon darkened and she started barking curses that, as much as Banks was concerned, no woman should ever know.

Then she finally turned her menacing gaze to him. "Fucker! What's with him?" Her head cocked in Smoker's direction, her rage much like that of a betrayed wife.

Had she not been a _very _dangerous pirate captain, Banks might have found it funny.

Of course, Banks didn't know either why his Commodore behaved like he did. He had never anticipated Smoker to react so abruptly, so strange, so . . . _worried_? On the other hand, he hadn't been able to predict the man during the course of their mission at all.

A few seconds and a useless throwing of a knife later, Banks found himself wrapped in clothes that seemed to suddenly grow on his body, until his much too wide trousers fell down and the sleeves of his jacket slid over the ground. "So that's my punishment," he murmured to himself.

Minutes later people passing wondered why such a small kid was dressed in a Marine uniform.

xxxxx

Smoker couldn't focus. It couldn't be - it just didn't make sense. And also, it was _impossible_. Portgas wouldn't and couldn't have fled. He'd seen him yesterday, all bruises and hurt and gratitude, and no, Smoker couldn't lie to himself about his impression of the pirate's character. The way he'd looked at him- Smoker might have left the brig door open and he'd probably stayed inside, that's the kind of look he'd given.

Smoker shuddered, wondering why it had gotten so cold all of a sudden.

No, something else must have happened. He simply _knew_.

And what a strange coincidence that those new orders for him would have arrived today. The next time he stumbled over Aokiji, he would have to extract some more information, some _real _information.

First however, he had to catch that idiot pirate, hopefully before he'd killed himself with exertion . . . because he wouldn't be able to provide answers otherwise, of course.

* * *

_What to do?_

Ace breathed heavily. Realization dawned.

He wouldn't make it; there probably were already half the island's Marine troops on search for him. Ace was alone and, in all aspects, powerless. Yes, he could put up a fight, he would pack a punch until his last breath was drawn but that wouldn't save anyone and if he'd gone through all this to save that woman, then he better made sure to get the job done properly.

So, what if he couldn't manage a flight?

It wasn't the only solution, he mused. What he needed was a trustworthy person to hand the nurse over, someone strong enough to protect her, trustworthy enough to believe what Ace would tell him- 'Alright, where's Luffy when you need him?' _Ah, not funny._

Trustworthy, strong.

Laughing, Ace clapped a hand against his useless head. _Smoker!_

Gods, the guy would kill him when he saw him outside the brig- But then again, Ace had the odd feeling that he _would_ probably believe him. Smoker also had the power to protect the nurse . . . Indeed, the man could help if he wanted to. And then he would escort Ace to Impel Down.

It was a wonderful, hurtful, realization.

Looking over to the woman he'd decided to save, Ace thought again if there wasn't another possibility, but in the end there just wasn't any. He'd have to trust in Smoker.

Sighing, he stretched his arms and legs - ignoring the cracking noises - and heaved the woman back in place over his shoulder. Feeling like he'd seen the light at a long tunnel's end, Ace moved again. He'd have to search for the direction of the city where they'd anchored. Smoker had left the boat and was certainly somewhere around.

_He might even be catching pirates_, Ace imagined with small amusement.

Now, how was he to find the guy? He couldn't just walk through the city hoping to bump into him. As he was pondering the time he'd spent with the man, Ace tried to figure out if he could predict his most likely destinations. That didn't help.

It wouldn't work that way – Ace glanced down on his own shaky legs – he probably wouldn't make it much further.

However, considering how well the Commodore reacted to the smallest signs of hints . . . An idea formed in Ace's head, a pretty stupid one at that, but it might just work on the thick headed, stubborn smoke logia user. Bare any other options, Ace decided to give it a try.

_He will definitely kill me_.

Compared to other possibilities at hand though, dying by Smoker's hand wasn't such a bad thing. _Wait, what?_

* * *

The damn brat! Stupid pirate. Idiot. Fucking idiot. Smoker had run out of curses and the more he called the brat "brat," the more it felt like a freaking pet name and he would be damned if he was getting soft for the stupid idiot brat.

Whatever had happened, Portgas had made a mistake by fleeing. He'd barely healed again after his suture had reopened, Smoker knew. Although, under those circumstances, taking the nurse with him wouldn't have been the worst idea, he had to give him that.

Now where to search for him? It wasn't as though the guy would shoot a light fire to help him find him. Snorting, Smoker grabbed the jacket's fur and pulled it tighter.

Wasn't as though he _could _even if he wanted. Must be a nightmare to lose one's powers.

Smoker's aimless walk had led him to the outskirts. A sign before him showed paths through the island's woods.

Left: Chestnut forest.

Second left: Carriage tour route.

Right: Cliffs and waterfall.

Middle: Lookout tower.

There was a small map beneath showing the whole island, with symbols for routes, specific trees, caves and hills.

Narrowing his eyes, Smoker stepped back.

No, that wouldn't help him at all. Portgas wouldn't walk straight to a tourist point and wait for him there. At least not in his current condition; Smoker wouldn't put it completely beyond the brat to enjoy this kind of thing if he was able to use his powers.

His nose suddenly twitched. He inhaled deeply and recognized a most familiar scent. Smoke. Taking in another breeze of it, his nose turned to find the direction of the smoke's origin.

It was a pretty stupid hunch, but since he didn't have any others - and, truly, stupid was exactly what he was looking for - he followed the small gray snakes along a muddy way into the forest.

The path was narrow and curvy, and every second tree at its side held signs with explanations of the plant's origin and importance. Most of them seemed to be age-old, older even than that ancient hag at Marine Headquarters.

It became slightly darker as the vegetation grew more abundant with each step into the wilderness. Light sipped in small, bright streaks in between the high trees, highlighting colorful branches and leaves like specifically installed spotlights.

The beauty of the surroundings never distracted Smoker as long as he followed the smoke's trail, but then it suddenly stopped. He was still on the way, but there was no more smoke and he was quite certain that whatever had been burning there, wouldn't be something in plain sight.

The problem was, the smoke was gone.

Smoker turned around and scanned the narrow woods. He couldn't discern anything useful. He held still for a moment and listened into the forest. Sounds of chirping birds could be heard, rustling leaves, clattering, sizzling, but nothing specifically conspicuous considering where he was.

Walking a few steps further, he decided that he wouldn't find anything if he simply followed the tourist path. There was a large sign with a broad red frame, one he'd seen various times before:

"Warning: leaving of the labeled tracks is strictly prohibited!"

_Well_, Smoker decided then, _time to start an off-route search_.

* * *

_What was it?_

Ace faced a monster. His eyes were wide open but his sight failed him; all he could discern were dark, furry contours while the spots on said fur had the same orange color as most of the surroundings, thus causing him even more trouble. Occasionally there were short flashes of white where the monster's fangs would be.

_It _had been there all along and now decided to show itself again. Maybe though, Ace was again just seeing things that weren't really there. His head was still so hot that in one of his less coherent moments he'd imagined his devil fruit might have wandered there.

However, just a moment ago, the thing had bitten him, and _that _had felt rather real.

Ace had been waving with a set of long leaves trying to smolder the fire he'd made - after all, he didn't need a suspiciously bright burning light if all he wanted was the smoke.

He'd been concentrating on not falling into the fire place - _or really, that might have been an interesting experience; would he, could he, have burnt himself? _- when _it_ had jumped at him from behind, a movement so quick and yet the body bouncing against his was heavy, almost throwing him over. Then sharp teeth had ripped a chunk of flesh off the crook between his neck and shoulder before the creature had leaped forth, straight to the fire, and smothered it in an instant.

Ace was already half numb, but the bite was deep enough that the sting was still painful.

Delirious, Ace fought to stay standing but ultimately sunk to his knees. He was utterly spent. Under his right leg the stones he'd used to make the fire cut into his skin, or maybe already the bone underneath. He didn't know how deep his wounds there were.

The creature, an eerie shadow, seemed to grow before his eyes; it rose tall, standing on two legs, growling. Ace knew that _it_, whatever or whoever it was, meant death. He'd actually felt it when he'd first spotted its hide.

It had been lurking in the shadows the whole time, watching, waiting, with a great bloodlust - that too he had felt. And now it was ready - or it thought _Ace _was ready - for the final feast.

_Snap! _Branches clicked.

The sound came from not far behind him.

It was nothing, Ace thought at first, but the dark creature seemed to hesitate. It just stood there, preparing for another bite, the killing blow, but the clicking became louder.

Ace blinked and the creature had vanished.

He turned around to look for the source of the noise.

It was then that he was _certain_ he was seeing illusions again.

Two broad tree branches were torn aside and through the small opening stepped a man. Light fell exactly to the spot and was reflected brightly on his head. Shining like a divine apparition in between the dark shadows of the woods, there he stood: Smoker, the White Hunter.

(tbc)


	9. Smoker's Clarity I

Many thanks to my wonderful beta-reader kawaiikittey for checking this chapter.

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* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 9 - Smoker's Clarity I**

* * *

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Smoker had found him. The sight wasn't what he had expected, but there he was, Whitebeard's Second Division Commander Portgas D. Ace: on his knees and staring at him with eyes that seemed to see another world already.

His expression upon Smoker's arrival however - if he even realized it - was not in shock as one might have expected but instead his features radiated a _relief _that caught the Marine unprepared and Smoker clenched his fists as a reminder to himself that he had different duties and priorities now.

He scanned the small glade with the extinct fireplace in its center. On the side, shadowed slightly by an old tree's stump, laid the nurse on what appeared like a cushion of moss and fern. She didn't look well either but seemed alive. Portgas, however . . . well, he had definitely seen much better times.

Smoker wanted to say something, but felt that telling the pirate he was arrested would be redundant. He forced himself to face the unsightly body again, bitter, because he felt oddly responsible. Whatever had happened to lead to _this_, it must have happened on Smoker's ship.

The pirate's form fell to the ground; his knees bent in an awkward angle, and his left arm twisted the wrong way around, but his face showed no signs of discomfort. His exhausted body seemed unable to process the pain his posture must have caused.

Smoker stepped over twigs and grass towards the pirate, his movements silenced by the dampening layer of leaves over the ground.

A large wound on Portgas' neck that was spilling blood all over his body caught Smoker's attention first. Judging by its shape, it must have been caused by a wild animal's bite. From a different wound, the bandages around his stomach were soaked red. His leg and arm seemed damaged equally badly and smaller cuts slowly bled his life out all over the rest of his tattered body.

Smoker crouched down on his knees and looked at the pirate's face, a thin film of sweat covered his reddened skin. He was - Smoker put a hand to his forehead to confirm his suspicion - burning up.

Upon Smoker's touch, a glimpse of life hushed back into Portgas' face and he opened his eyes just barely, even though it seemed that he couldn't see. Slowly, his lips opened to breathe out a question, "You real?"

"Yeah." Smoker shrugged, preparing for an attack, resistance. For it to turn out that Portgas was only playing a prank on him, trying to catch him unawares. That this situation wasn't real.

But the body before him stayed completely still and relaxed.

"Good," Portgas said. "Protect her-" and closed his eyes again.

That statement confused Smoker.

Protect her? The nurse? Couldn't be anyone else - but why?

Smoker's hands were shaking; he was about to beat the pirate back to awareness to ask the million questions he had now - when, overlaying the peaceful sounds of the forest, hectic human voices echoed.

One voice Smoker recognized immediately.

"Tashigi, over here!" He called for his subordinate.

A moment later, the Lieutenant, followed by a group of Marines from their ship, entered the small space.

_They must have been following Portgas' tracks_, Smoker concluded. _The guy probably bled a helpful trail all over the forest grounds-_

Tashigi, sweaty and panting from exhaustion, stared at her Captain. "Captain Smoker?" Surprise was written on her face, as well as the immediate thought of telling him what had happened on the ship in his absence. Her face had immediately sought out Smoker's and so she hadn't grasped the situation surrounding him yet.

Smoker understood and nodded down towards the pirate's form. "I know. He's here."

Tashigi's eyes followed the motion. At the sight of the state of her escapee her thoughts concerning a heavy punishment for that man blanked for a moment . "Oh my- What in heaven's name happened?"

"Don't know." Smoker tried to hide his own trepidation. "But I think he called me here."

"Is he," Tashigi hesitated, "alive?"

The coppice rustled and another familiar voice sounded. "Oh, you found our captive."

Smoker turned to face Admiral Aokiji who jumped from his saddle. How the man had made it through the narrow woods by bike would remain a mystery to Smoker. Even more so, how he had managed to arrive at right this point in time at this exact place.

"I did." Glancing in Elena's direction, he added, "Together with our missing nurse."

The Admiral took long, slow steps to move over to Smoker, and then leaned down to direct a measuring gaze at the pirate. "From the looks of it, I'd say my assignment has ended as well."

He rose up again and swung his leg lightly before he let it collide against Portgas' side in a probing kick.

The hit ribs gave a dull thump but the pirate didn't move nor give a sound.

Raising a brow, Aokiji concluded, "He's dead, isn't he? No need for further transportation-"

At that Smoker shot a death glare back. "Not _yet_." His voice was clear and held a certain determination. "Would it be more _convenient _for you if he were?" A strange suspicion was beginning to form in the Commodore's mind.

Aokiji stepped back and casually put his hands on his hips. "Oh, Smoker! Wouldn't it be more convenient for _everyone _if he were?" Sighing, he added – and Smoker believed to hear a trace of regret in his voice, "You know what will happen."

"I don't." Smoker lied. "But I'm curious what your role in this mess is."

Aokiji mustered him as if he was searching for a certain clue, then he replied, "I'm as concerned about this stupid move of Sengoku as you are. Of that I can assure you."

Smoker looked down at Portgas again. "I bet you are."

"He's dead. It's over." The Admiral turned away to stroll back to his bicycle.

Smoker considered for a moment. Of course, Aokiji was right. Whatever would happen, it would be the easiest thing if the pirate were to die here. Nobody but the escapee himself would be responsible and Whitebeard's wrath would have no aim. However-

However, he'd decided to not let the brat die while he was in his custody.

Smoker's hand moved from Portgas' forehead to the pirate's throat, his fingers searching and finding his dangerously weak pulse.

He raised his other hand but caught himself in time when he was about to slap the lifeless face into awareness, and instead landed it onto the pirate's shoulder with slightly more consideration.

"I won't allow you to die here, Portgas!"

His voice was rough and his grip on the pirate fierce.

He didn't get any reaction.

Driven by instincts, Smoker shouted his thoughts into the pirate's face - and had he taken only a second to reconsider then those revealing words should never have left his mouth - "Damn brat! _This is not where you'll die!_"

The features of Ace's bruised face softened as if a string that was tearing them into place had been pulled away and his lips twitched slightly.

He opened his eyes and sighed, "Pops-?" before his vision returned and he recognized Smoker.

_That gaze would haunt him to the end of his days_, Smoker could tell as much. That look was so very stupid. So sure of himself. Cocky.

Full of familiarity. Knowing.

And then, to make it worse, the brat put on that _dumb smile_.

Smoker knew his hand had lingered too long on the other man; he pulled it back, but it was too late. His fingers were covered in the pirate's blood.

As he watched the red fluid on his skin and barely suppressed the whirl of emotions coiling through his stomach, Portgas looked at him and - feverish as he was - he probably didn't even see much but through that dumb, half-dead grin on his face, Smoker could tell that he _knew_. Knew what Smoker hadn't yet - no, wouldn't ever - admitted to himself.

His knees cracked painfully as he stood up again. "He's awake now," Smoker said, taking just a second too long to tear his eyes off the pirate.

Aokiji leaned to the side and despite his furrowed brow looked rather unfazed by the scene. "Really?"

Finally Tashigi took command. "Take him into custody!" she ordered with a glare that rivaled Smoker's best one.

Seastone cuffs were wound around the pirate's wrists, another pair put on his ankles, and then two soldiers heaved the limp body up. Carrying the pirate on their shoulders, they moved back towards the way. Back to the harbor, the ship, and ultimately the brig.

Smoker did not look after them.

Aokiji took in the posture of his colleague. Sometimes the words unspoken would tell more than those uttered, and it might just be the same with looks.

Recollecting his thoughts, Smoker glared at Aokiji. He couldn't stop suspecting the Admiral's involvement in whatever had really taken place. Matter-of-factly he said, "I'll send my ship's doctor over to treat the pirate."

He didn't say, "_To make sure he survives_."

Aokiji only smiled lightly. "Yeah, yeah, alright, as you wish." If he was indeed unsettled by that, he didn't show it. _The sleazy fox._

Finally, the Admiral trotted away, followed shortly after the group of Marines with the arrested pirate.

In the bushes to Smoker's right, a groan came to his attention. He looked over to the lump of leaves, mud and, barely visible in between, human. Nurse Elena had woken up.

Normally, Smoker would have sent Tashigi to speak to the probably confused woman to calm her, but right now there wasn't anything else he could do anyway, so Smoker approached her.

When he was close enough, Smoker recognized the woolen material that she had been well wrapped into, with obvious care. The blanket was barely green anymore, as it was covered in mud and leaves and some smaller twigs had been caught in it. The blanket was torn in other places, telling a story of what it had gone through since the last time he had touched it. One look at that blanket was enough for Smoker to know Portgas had never wished to harm the woman, and he felt his suspicions from earlier even more reassured.

However, if not a captive's flight with a hostage, what exactly was it that had happened and led to this?

"Elena, you have to answer some questions."

Smoker scratched his forehead. Being all touchy-feely with victims really wasn't his forte. However, she was a Marine and not a housewife - she would have to deal with it.

Smoker hadn't expected the burst of emotions that followed - he knew he _should _have as it was the human, sensible, thing to do. Alas, he was indeed human but . . .

Elena was crying, and she wasn't even trying to suppress anything. She breathed hysterically, and sniffed and sobbed and shed too many tears.

Maybe enough for both of them, for even Smoker felt like something horribly sad had taken place. He just didn't know it yet.

The frightened, confused woman told him strange things. She mixed the order of events and in between all those sobs it was hard to understand what she was meaning to tell.

Something about her home island and how it was always cold. She told about evil pirates, their killings, her ransacked home, and her resulting devotion to the Marines. However, that, as sad it was, was nothing new to Smoker. Rather, it was the role model background for a devoted soldier in the fight against piracy.

Then, finally, she recalled the events that had taken place in the brig cell, not any more coherent than the rest. "The man- _monster_- he was- it was so hot- painful- my hair!" She wept again. "He burned me," her breathing accelerated as she continued, "he burnt my face, my hair, oh god, he wanted to _kill _me!"

Smoker looked helplessly at her. Then over to Tashigi.

His second in command jumped to his side in an instant, and kneeled down beside the nurse. From deep within her pockets, she fished out a cloth and started wiping Elena's face free of her tears and the grime and dirt that covered it as well.

As Smoker watched the scene, it seemed to him that with every tear she wiped away she only seemed to make room for even more. It _had _been a traumatic situation for her, he reminded himself – holding himself back so that he wouldn't strain her with his impatience for information.

Smoker was beginning to feel very uncomfortable in his position. Finally though, the nurse sobbed one last time and seemed to have calmed down. Without panting as much anymore, she looked at Tashigi and Smoker. She must have realized that she was safe now.

Soon her voice hardened and, sniffling, she added, "and then _that horrible pirate abducted me_!"

Smoker stood up.

He took a fresh breath of air and calmed down the undefined emotions overwhelming him for a moment.

The nurse was just reacting as every sane person would, but it was gnawing on him that she was cursing the very man who'd risked his life to save her's. Smoker didn't doubt that fact anymore. Portgas may have been the reason for all of this, but he still had acted like a good man. He had almost died there and yet he'd made sure she was found.

Portgas wasn't as stupid as Smoker would have liked to think. That pirate had known that he would give himself up with his little stunt, had known full well he would be brought to Impel Down or even be killed on the spot. All of that just to save the nurse, and now the woman was blinded by her hate for pirates so much that she couldn't recognize a noble deed when it was done. She didn't recognize a good man when she saw one.

Smoker swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn't supposed to think like this. He hated it.

First the little brother. Now the big brother. Why couldn't those brats behave properly, just stick to the clear distinctions between the good deeds and the bad guys? And why would he care about all this so much?

It had only been his suspicion about some underhanded deals in the Portgas case that had led to his deeper interest in the pirate in the first place. Now, that confusion had risen even more - and he was supposed to step back and continue with his usual work?

Somebody was really thinking he wouldn't get suspicious with that?

Somebody must take him for an idiot.

With his back to Tashigi and the others, Smoker let his gaze drift off into the distance, as if he could try and see the right path somewhere over there. For just a moment, he allowed his head and his heart to connect, aiming at a moment of honest clarity, so that his inner torment might be resolved - but too much was still unknown to him. Apart from his nagging suspicions, he simply didn't have any solid clues.

Finally, he spoke. "Tashigi, we have orders to continue with the pursuit of the Strawhat pirates. Our ship has already been brought to Selva and lays anchored at the harbor. The crew is ready and waiting."

"Yes sir," the ever faithful Lieutenant replied. Her brain was quick to adapt to the new situation and she offered, "I will look for reports on the latest sightings of the Strawhats!"

"That won't be necessary - yet."

Tashigi looked up in concern, completely unaware of what was going on in her Captain's head.

"There's something I need to clarify first," Smoker added.

A light breeze ruffled his hair up as he was still standing with his eyes scrutinizing something unclear in the distance. A frown darkened his face, but his decision was made.

* * *

Selva was a tourist island, a natural ensemble of the world's small and big wonders: special trees, ferns, rare animals, impressive cliffs, picturesque landscapes, beaches, hills, and caves.

One such cave, hidden in the forest, was not far from the spot where about an hour ago the infamous pirate Fire Fist Ace had been recaptured after his unsuccessful flight. In there, two men and a woman stood and sat respectively, waiting for a fourth member to their party to appear.

Leaning against the moist wall, the biggest of the three chewed on his bottom lip while his head hung low, his strong neck bulging into a strange mass; his half lidded eyes never lost sight of the other two. Even as his figure was too huge to be overlooked, he'd made himself sink as much into the shadows as possible, had arranged his body into a position that he could maintain for as long as it would be needed, and silently, carefully, looked around for any changes happening.

It was routine for him, because Blueno was trained for that. He was used to waiting while still observing his surroundings, to biding his time, for a very long time if needed, until a single, simple command would change his boring, every day routine, and he would jump to attention from one second to the next: ready to stop the chores and start the killing as he was told.

The silence was broken by the other man in the cave, whose nasal voice sing-sang in a tone that could almost be considered friendly. "Oh my, you really messed it up."

Those words, however, were crucial. Damning. _His _opinion on their operation would decide about their future. Rather, whether there _was _a future.

Another shadow moved from the position where it sat on a bigger stone. High heels clicked against the stone ground as the figure moved closer to the middle of the cave. "I did my part just as planned!" The woman's quiet hiss was poisonous to the ears.

She stood straight, a wide stance provided her posture with a menacing, confident, aura and she eyed her bigger companion with a deathly stare. "It's not my fault that Blueno couldn't kill one freaking nurse!" Her nostrils widened slightly as she seemed to breathe in enough power to spit out another devious assault. "And it's even less my fault that Lucci couldn't deal with a powerless, half-dead brat-"

"Oh, that's quite true," a new voice snarled as the last missing member had appeared in the cave entry. His frame stood dark before the bright entrance, broad shoulders, long legs, and a pigeon on his shoulder. "However," and now his voice took on a dangerously low tone, "it might be _entirely _your fault if this _secret _meeting gets more attendees than intended because you don't know how to control that pesky organ of yours."

"Hmpf!" Califa's lip twitched, rendering her beautiful face for a moment a bit too ugly, then she walked towards Lucci, her heels playing a climactic rhythm on the stone floor - _click, clack, click, clack_ - full of both grace and menace, to finally face him. "That's sexual harrassm-"

"Ahahaha!" Her words were disrupted by the Admiral's bitter laughter. "I'll have to be with Califa on this one, Lucci. I can't imagine that any misfortune she could bring upon us now would ever best how badly you and Blueno have failed on this _simple,_" he paused shortly to emphasize the word even more, "mission."

The narrowing of his eyes betrayed his cheerful voice and he added, all serious with a tiny hint of annoyance, "You know, I've seen Fire Fist just now and it's a complete mystery to me how he could _possibly_ have managed to survive having three Cipher Pole agents against him." The twitching of the corner of his mouth indicated a growing urge to yawn but instead he spoke, his voice now teasingly bored, "Are you really our former elite, CP9?"

Blueno had been calm the whole time, but even without a direct order he'd realized that now was the moment to act, the moment to jump in and solve the problem. If Aokiji continued, he'd most likely tell them how useless they were, how they had already been the same against the Strawhat and how they had continued to show even less worth against the damaged, powerless, Fire Fist. If he didn't say anything now, those two, Califa and Lucci, capable agents as they were, would simply blow it with their temper.

So Blueno stepped forward from his position against the wall, feeling his soaked back dragged him back against the cold stone while he tried to come up with a reasonable argument to persuade the Admiral.

"It's true, the mission was a failure. But that's because of complications we couldn't foresee in the planning. And," Blueno realized that what he was about to say could very well backfire in the worst way imaginable, "and perhaps the main reason it failed was the order itself: not killing the target directly. The target was still _very _strong despite his state-"

Blueno's voice trailed off as he remembered the fight with Fire Fist, the irrational anger that had led him to actually disobey the order and even try to kill the pirate, and yet even with _that, _said pirate had been able to survive. Actually, Blueno was still in pain from his wounds gained in said fight. It was humiliating.

To Blueno's surprise, the Admiral nodded.

"Indeed, I hadn't imagined him to be so strong at first. However, that's exactly why the order was changed - huh, Lucci?" he gazed over to the CP9-agent in the entrance while stifling a yawn with his hand. "By telling you that the pitiful boy should find his end due to the wild animals of Selva Island, did I not make myself clear enough?"

The leopard man didn't seem bothered by the statement. He raised a dark brow and his teeth flashed white when he said, "No, it was very clear. There are ferocious beasts on Selva . . ."

The predatory expression on his face was barely concealed as he remembered the delicious hunt he'd enjoyed earlier. Following the pirate through the woods as soon as he had spotted him, drinking up the vermin's insecurity, his disorientation; even his stubborn refusal to give up had been amusing at that time.

It had been even better when he'd informed the Admiral of his findings, and had subsequently been given the order to _really _claim the prey.

And of course it would have been easy to make it quick, but where would have been the joy in that?

When he'd bitten he pirate and had felt the life bleed out of the guy, when he had seen him sink to his knees, desperate, completely helpless, and then giving up - that was such a magnificent experience: knowing he would watch him die scratch by scratch, bite by bite, painfully, slowly, lonely, hopelessly; and it had only been a matter of seconds if not—

"It would have been no problem at all if it weren't for a certain Marine Commodore. Your information on Smoker was simply wrong."

Aokiji eyed the former CP9-agent with interest. It was a different kind of amazing how that man could be consumed by his bloodlust, his whole aura radiating the wild, beastly thoughts that must have crossed his mind only a moment before, and still manage to speak in a polite, business-like manner as if he wasn't the raw animal that lurked so dangerously close underneath his well tended, _fake_, civilized exterior.

Unexpectedly, Califa and Blueno nodded in agreement, all previous fights against each other forgotten. They all had suffered from Smoker's unpredictability. They all wouldn't have had to do _anything _if Smoker had simply behaved as the Admiral had told them he would: cold, disinterested, only fixated on getting back to his own crew and his own boat as soon as possible.

"I guess I have to agree," Aokiji said finally.

Smoker had even gone to the length of exchanging ship doctors, just to make sure the pirate was going to be alive when he arrived at Impel Down. It all wouldn't have been so unpredictable, normally. Aokiji was aware that their _beloved _Fleet Admiral didn't really trust him, despite all the efforts he'd made to appear trust-worthy, and Aokiji wouldn't have put it beyond Sengoku to send some forces to make sure his treasured goods would arrive alive so that he could push through with his plan of madness.

It just had been unthinkable that he would use Smoker for that kind of task; or rather that Smoker would _let _himself _be used_. It was still something Aokiji couldn't quite fathom and he wondered whatever else reason Smoker's actions might have had.

Aokiji realized that he'd been silent for a while and that his cute, obedient, CP9-puppies were looking expectantly at his face. _Oh my_, he remembered, _they're so insecure_.

Insecure and ruthless - how strangely human those killing monsters were!

With a wave of his hand he tried to loosen the charged atmosphere a bit. "Well, for now there's nothing we can do anymore. I'll take Fire Fist to Impel Down as ordered. It would be a bit too suspicious if anything happened again. You stay on Selva and wait for my call - _maybe _I'll need you again."

Those final words were enough and the three faces dissolved their strained looks to return to the ice cold facades they held before. Nobody would have ever guessed these three intimidating people had feared for their futures, their very existences, just a moment ago.

* * *

Ace was awake again - he thought.

He couldn't be completely certain of that, since he had spent the last days in a blurry haze, often not clear if he was dreaming or seeing reality.

His condition had ameliorated as an unknown doctor had tended to his wounds. With some kind of small joy had Ace acknowledged that this new one didn't share the former one's irritating obsession with scalpels.

The man had even spoken to him. He'd explained that the extreme hotness Ace felt was caused by a fever.

That piece of information had shaken Ace's already fucked up mind even more. Fever wasn't something he was familiar with anymore. It had been so long since he'd eaten his Devil Fruit; heat surging through every fiber of his being had become a natural feeling, a rather cherished reminder of the power kept within his body.

What a bitter irony to realize that it now was a reminder of how destroyed and powerless that same body had become.

The fever explained more of Ace's awkward memories, or "visions", that he had seen on the island. That he was still seeing even now.

Leaning against the seastone wall, in the same old cell, on the same old boat, and considering the confused state of his head, Ace easily would have wondered whether the crazy things he _believed _to remember were _all _born from his feverish dreams. The visual marks on his body were the only evidence that not everything could have been his imagination.

Ace let his finger trail along a scratch on his upper arm. The marred skin didn't hurt as much, but the bone underneath was certainly broken. What broke his arm, Ace still remembered clearly.

From the position his chains forced him into, he could see where the sea stone tile had been broken off the wall. Maybe it was only imagination but he seemed to still smell a lingering breeze of burnt air.

The ship was rocking and shook Ace's body slightly, ramming his shoulder into the cold wall. His train of thought was only broken for a moment. Because, sadly, he also could _feel _every single wound he'd suffered in the process of that messed up fight that he'd still somehow managed to survive; just like he could remember the actions that had followed. Although they were not as clear anymore.

In the end that didn't matter much. What mattered was: It had been worth it.

Although Ace hadn't seen the nurse again, he somehow knew that she was safe now. Why that was, he couldn't even tell anymore – his memories were too hazy. His instincts though, he could trust.

And not only that. He could still smell the fresh air of the sea, feel the moist sand under his feet and the cold wet around his calves. Truly, he could smile - well, at least a bit, and might be feeling less heroic soon . . . But right now, he could smile - about all the pain he had endured, knowing that it all paled against the glowing feeling that he had been _free _again, that he'd _chosen _to do what he did, that he had used his lungs to breathe, his legs to march, his fists to fight for what _he _had decided. That was his ultimate freedom.

Nobody could take it from him again. A free man could not be robbed of his freedom even if they put him in chains and threw him in the darkest cell. That was the truth he had seen, a truth to that he would cling with all his heart through everything he was expecting and fearing would happen from now on. Although "everything" could be summarized in two dreadful words:

Impel Down.

The fate of pirates that were considered as dangerous as he was: _Torture _to get information from him. Ultimately _death_.

He'd been aware of this fate from the moment he'd awoken on board Smoker's ship. Rather, that was _all _he had expected to happen . . . but as always, "fate" in his life . . . was a freaking joke.

With a squeaking sound, the brig door announced another round of visitors. Steps came closer. Two wardens reached the cell front and looked at Ace. He knew he looked pitiful, and he wasn't sure how to take the fact that they were treating him as more dangerous than ever. There was a snarky remark Ace wanted to make about that . . .

. . . but when he opened his eyes again, yawning, the marines weren't there anymore. It seemed _something _really hadn't changed.

Ace had more memories from the island. They didn't make much sense. That's why he suspected them to be those feverish visions that the doctor had told him about. The man's explanations had made sense: that Ace must have seen places or other things that had triggered feelings and memories.

However, the man hadn't told him what it was that had _really _happened and so Ace was left with some haunting images spooking in his head.

Had he been preyed by a huge spider? Or an even worse, darker monster?

Had he met Luffy? The old man? _Smoker?_

It was immensely confusing, and now that he was back here _as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had ever changed_, it was too far a stretch from his actual situation to be thought of as real.

Those riddles occupied Ace for his remaining time on the ship; he didn't have anything else to do when all that was left was loneliness and memories.

In his last night on the ship Ace had a strange dream that appeared to be his own, subconscious, answer to his inner doubts and questions.

In that dream, he was lying in a deep hole in the ground. Surrounding him was nothing but utter darkness and the smell of rot and death.

Worms crawled through the sand. Their small, ugly forms slipped greasily along his skin, biting and nibbling and tearing away at his skin. They ate him.

Desperately, Ace tried to shake them off - but they always came slithering back. He grabbed for them and ripped them apart but as soon as the shredded body halves landed on the ground, they started crawling again, separately. He was helpless.

Then he heard noises from above - but a vicious voice whispered, "_This world does not care about you. Nobody will try to find you. Nobody will save you. This _world _put you here._"

The noises became louder.

From above him paws scrabbled down. He heard nostrils sniffling, and then monstrous carnivore heads covered the opening of the hole. As if they were the final tomb stone.

Fledging their long, sharp fangs they growled and bend downwards. Saliva dripped on Ace's face as the creatures came closer. He could smell their acid breath, see deep into their opened mouths, and hear their excited, hungry gasps-

But then, a huge hand appeared, fingers stretched like rubber so long that they closed around all their throats at once, pressed them together so tightly that the monsters' eyes plunged out and in a sudden puff they disappeared. The miraculously shining hand was lowered further down and stroked Ace's cheeks tenderly, wiped away the worms and took his hand.

With one swift motion, he was pulled upwards, a long way towards the light.

When fresh air grazed his skin and he breathed in life and freedom, Ace looked at his savior, whose hand and arm had shrunken to normal size again.

He was greeted with a blinding smile. Ace blinked at the brightness and when he opened his eyes again the boy from before had grown a crescent, white, beard.

"Why?" is all that Ace managed to say.

The bearded boy answered with a deep voice, "Because this is not where you'll die."

It was not a single voice that spoke, it sounded more like a small choir. Then the boy turned, and on his abnormally broad back, a tattoo bearing the word "Justice" was claiming his skin. Of course, Ace knew what that dream meant.

He'd died for the third time, and again an unexpected savior had brought him back: the most unexpected of them all.

(tbc)


	10. Smoker's Clarity II

Big thanks goes again to kawaiikittey who edited this!

I know that it took a while, but we're getting there... really. ;)

.

* * *

**The Dumb Smile of the Knowing**

**Part 10 - Smoker's Clarity II**

* * *

.

None of the few visitors that came to Ace's cell in the brig were people that he remembered, none of them anyone he cared about. He wouldn't deny that he liked the improved healthcare, despite that things such as a blanket or gurney were denied to him. Ace sometimes thought that it might be better that way, that those would have refreshed memories that were a bit painful from his current perspective.

After all, it was bad enough, sitting day by day, trying his hardest not to wait for the grumpy Commodore to stomp into the cell.

Really, what _was _he waiting for?

It didn't help that Ace was pretty certain after a while that the man wasn't on board anymore.

Because, as if it all wasn't absurd enough, apparently Smoker had come to invade his dreams.

And even if Ace had decided that the guy might be likeable . . . He was _royally _fucked, Ace understood that much, the moment he started to _miss _the freaking Marine who'd made sure he was delivered to prison.

xxxxx

Then came the moment when Ace realized that at least one "familiar" crew member had stayed aboard even though Smoker, Tashigi, the weird Doc and the nurse hadn't. However, as soon as he recognized the most likely strongest vocal chords on the Grand Line, he wished he'd never heard the yell, nor the words "Impel Down" and "Gates open."

It was the last he heard before they came to get him.

He'd healed enough, thanks to the improved care of that new doctor, so that he was able to leave the cell with some last kind of dignity: on his own two legs.

Two strangers held his cuffed arms while he was escorted out of the brig and back onto the deck that he hadn't seen in a while. Ace turned to look around in an attempt to search for certain familiar faces, but - as expected - they were not there.

In front of him, looming like a dark shadow over him, he could already make out the threatening building where he would quite possibly spend the rest of his life. A mighty silhouette against the disturbingly clear blue sky: the Great Underwater Prison.

There was a strange silence on board as the crew members watched him march off.

Ace saw Admiral Aokiji, who was already on land, speaking to another man, a huge creature of a man, who Ace correctly guessed as the chief in charge of the prison. Their brief exchange ended, and they both strode off into the building while Ace was dragged into the same direction.

It turned out there was an entry ritual to that very peculiar prison. He noticed a subtle but biting acidic smell at first and knew it meant no good. The path "his" small group took followed the eerie trail and it didn't take long for him to encounter its source: They had brewed him a fuming, sputtering, hot welcome bath to clean him from dirt, portions of his skin, and any ideas of leaving this place alive. It was here that he met the woman who introduced herself as "Sadi-chan."

While at first, the woman's sparse outfit that only barely covered her bosoms and hips had reminded Ace of the women on Lupanalo Island, it didn't take long before he realized that those two horns on her head were much more telling.

She'd prepared him one hell of a bath in the literal sense. Ace didn't feel like giving the smirking devil, standing on the side watching his face and naked form intently, the pleasure of caving into a _bit _of pain. As impossible as it sounded, after all he had endured in the past weeks, that was what he thought of a bit of heat.

He should have known this _initiation _would only be the beginning of his experience of true pain inside this prison.

xxxxx

When he'd arrived in Level Five, he had seen it all. Sadi-chan hadn't simply thrown him there. No, the creepy blonde domina from the bathhouse pleasures apparently lived off of seeing her prisoners writhing and screaming in pain-and since Ace had denied her such with his rather unfazed entry, she was bent on getting it through other means.

Thus, she'd introduced him to all levels of the cleverly managed prison, _subsequently_, both as quickly as and as thorough as possible.

She'd dragged him through the Crimson Hell, and laughed as the razor sharp leaves cut into his barely healed skin, but she soon stopped when she saw that he wasn't responding at all - she couldn't have known that he'd almost grown used to that kind of wound by now.

Then she'd called for another guard, and together they'd brought him down to Level Two, where apparently he was supposed to be bothered by huge, threatening creatures that tried to prey on him. He wasn't. The reason wasn't that he was trying to show off nor was he trying to play the "hard pirate." It was simply that even though he still couldn't discern what part of his encounters on the strange island had been real, all of them had definitely frightened him more and brought him closer to death than any big snake _here_ could ever hope to.

Next had been the Starvation Hell, which to Ace's surprised delight his guards skipped. They passed through the prison level quickly but Ace still caught a good impression of the thin, haggard bodies behind the cell bars there, moaning and begging for water and food. Perhaps Sadi-chan didn't have the patience to sit by and _wait _for Ace to slowly waste away. Perhaps it was because the pain of starvation wouldn't bring the _right _type of pain into his features for her liking, he really didn't know. What he did know was that he was lucky because his natural appetite _would _have been a real torture in that level.

Probably, Ace decided later, Sadi-chan simply couldn't wait to reach Level Four. She was eyeing him very intently as they stood before its terrifyingly beautiful, blazing inferno. Ace's guards knew of course about his Devil Fruit as probably every Marine on the Grand Line knew about it, and so they'd simply thrown him into the devouring heat, seastone shackled as he was. For a sadist, seeing flames burn the skin and hair of a Flame man, was probably like finding a tree that grew grilled portions of meat as fruit would be for a glutton like Luffy. And somehow, Ace reasoned, in a twisted way, he could follow that train of thought. So he smiled at the busty blonde satan, understandingly.

That had been a very unwise decision.

* * *

Tashigi wasn't going to believe any of it.

_"Clarify something__," my ass._

She'd served the man for almost as long as she'd been with the Marines and had come to think she knew him. From that knowledge she could tell very easily that the way _her _Captain Smoker behaved now was far from normal.

She had observed how her Captain had spent an entire afternoon washing his hands, always coming back from the sink, looking at them frowning, obviously seeing something she was unable to see, and then going back to again wash away whatever it was that disturbed him so much.

She had also observed how he had not smoked a single cigar that same afternoon, whereas he normally would have produced a whole ashtray full of stubs in that time span.

That had only been in the beginning.

The next day, he'd acted as if nothing was wrong, standing on deck, facing the winds of the bow direction with a grim face, two fat cigars polluting the air around him as always. He could have fooled her, almost.

Later, however, when he'd come into the mess and taken his meal together with her and some other officers, she'd caught him rubbing at the inside of his palm in an absent-minded motion. It wasn't the last time she saw it.

Another downright frightening indication practically slapped her square in the face when she'd come to Smoker's quarters and found him seated behind his large desk, furrowed brows and cigars well in place, but with a shocking amount of papers spread out before him. His left digit was tracing down something on the documents while his right hand scribbled notes - and Tashigi had observed very closely since the whole picture seemed so foreign to her - Smoker apparently had been working through at least a month worth of paperwork. _Pa-per-work!_ For a good two seconds, her heart had stopped beating.

And of course, there was, maybe above all, Smoker's strange decision to "clarify something" by taking a "small detour" via Impel Down.

The crew hadn't noticed anything, or at least Tashigi tried to think so, as they were used to Smoker's rash decisions, his unusual courses, his 'moods' and, basically, his way in general. They didn't see any reason to believe something was unusual even when they were being ordered to approach the Great Gaol _without _a pirate on board.

Tashigi, however, _had _noticed and only two days had passed until she'd made a decision. In retrospective, the decision _to _act had been much more difficult than the decision _how _to act. Acknowledging that her Captain needed to talk about what was occupying his thoughts and also acknowledging that he -sadly- wouldn't speak to her about it, there was really only one option left.

That's why she wasn't surprised as the look-out, a day later, called out, "Ship in sight!"

Smoker immediately propelled up to the man shouting, to also take a look at the approaching vessel. "Can you see the flag?" he inquired.

"It looks like," the man with the telescope strained his eyes and slowly answered, "Hina, the Black Cage!"

Tashigi heard the words and smiled inwardly. Captain Hina was such a dear friend to Smoker! After Tashigi had told her that he was troubled, Hina had agreed to come at once. Apparently she had just arrested some Baroque Works agents and delivered them to Impel Down, so she had already been close anyway.

Tashigi looked up to the platform where Smoker hastily snatched the telescope from the other man's hands. After one view through it his face paled even whiter than his hair was and he announced with thundering urgency, "Quick! Veer off! Change of course, immediately!"

Tashigi blinked in disbelief.

Although she had seen Smoker sometimes react a bit reluctantly when he met his old friend, she hadn't expected that kind of rash decision now, especially when he was so obviously in need of a good and understanding friend who might even have some understanding on what was troubling him.

Admittedly, Smoker and Hina had their occasional misunderstandings and friendly banters - that much even Tashigi could tell - but at the end of the day, Hina was the only one to be ever on the _receiving end_ of Smoker's favors. And if that didn't tell _something _about his benevolence towards her then Tashigi didn't know what else would. Not even the Fleet Admiral personally would ever be favored by her Captain, but _Hina _would.

Shaking her head, Tashigi realized that she, even after spending her entire career at Smoker's side, still didn't really understand him.

They left Hina's boat behind for now, but Tashigi was certain that the other Captain would find her way to Smoker later - whether he liked it or not.

* * *

When they arrived at the Great Gaol, nothing seemed changed from the last time Smoker had been here, and that was oh-so-many years ago. Back in the time before those other nasty events had ended up in his order to watch over Logue Town. There were a great number of Marine ships anchored in a big circle around the underwater prison. High above, the flag with the prison's symbol had to be held by two flagpoles because of the lack of wind in the Calm Belt.

However, he'd never been quite so keen on getting inside the building since dropping the pirates at the gate and quickly signing off the papers was already enough of an inconvenience and he'd always wanted to be back on the sea to _clean _it by catching even more of those worthless scoundrels as soon as possible.

Today, Smoker would not only peek inside, he even wanted to visit a prisoner, although the word "visit" wouldn't quite form in his mind and he still looked for excuses about what exactly his business with Portgas was.

_Just checking . . . just making sure that . . . _

_That what? _His mind was reeling, condemning him already for even coming here; the voice urged him to leave this instant.

_...if everything's alright! If there's no hidden agenda, if no civilians get murdered over the brat - things like that_, another voice in his mind calmed the first, but Smoker was fuming.

Fuming at himself for the insanity that was the little chat in his head over the fucking pirate he wanted to . . . visit.

The chief warden quickly introduced him to Sadi-chan, who had a strikingly appropriate behavior and who was probably the best choice for that job, Smoker kind of understood. With a devilish smile, she offered him the "full tour" - meaning he would get to see all levels, their respective forms of torture, maybe 'meet' some of the other pirates he'd delivered here, writhing, bleeding, and screaming in desperation and agony. Smoker declined the offer with a short but determined move of his head.

"I don't have too much time, just bring me to Portgas, let me have a quick talk and then I'm gone."

He had said that to her, but a part of himself needed to hear those words too, to remind him that whatever strange idea had led him here, this was all there was going to be.

Sadi-chan looked him over but didn't reply. Instead, she gestured towards the lift that they would take to descend to Portgas' current level. She knew already that the pirate would be brought one level down afterwards because of the new "situation" but since she didn't know how much Smoker was supposed to know about those developments, and since she had nothing to gain from informing him of anything, she didn't mention it.

xxxxx

It was so cold that Smoker pulled his jacket closed, the skin of his face immediately built small goose bumps and his eyes started feeling dry and hurt.

Sadi-chan led him along a white path where he could see cell bars coated with glistening ice to his side but, even more so, he could hear agonizingly broken voices, ranging from soft whimpering to husky screams. The sounds felt out of place knowing that the people here crying like little girls had once been strong, feared, men. Smoker didn't hear Portgas' voice, however, and he wasn't much surprised about it either.

They reached a cell where the warden stopped; it was more like a small cage, narrow and empty apart from the figure on the ground. With a clack, Sadi-chan's key opened the door so that the Commodore could enter. He closed the door behind himself and waved her away.

_I can handle this easily_, his gaze said.

_You want to be alone with him_, the voice in his head laughed.

It was as he should have expected. Crouching on the floor, shackled to the frozen wall with both hands, Portgas' body was all shades of blue and violet, the coloring a result of the various kinds of tortures: whippings and beatings and frostbites. He was wearing nothing more than his trousers and the red necklace, and obviously even a Whitebeard pirate that seemed to somehow survive _everything_, would freeze when being exposed to the polar winds ghosting through the bars of his holding cell in the prison level called _Freezing Hell_ while sitting there half-naked.

Not quite acknowledging that he had checked, Smoker saw that the older wounds on the pirates' body had almost disappeared, although a couple of new ones made up for them well enough: cuts and scratches, dried blood caking the skin of his chest, his arms . . . Smoker _didn't _want to count the other's injuries, so he quickly addressed the pirate. "Portgas!"

Black locks moved and a face came in sight. Piercing dark eyes found Smoker's own narrowed ones, their gaze so intense that Smoker's breath stopped for a moment.

"You-! Huh. Gotta be, kidding?" came the rather undignified response. The pirate's eyes were still wide and seemed to grow even wider, taking in the appearance of his visitor.

Smoker moved closer and fought the embarrassing urge to strip off his jacket and throw it over Portgas' obviously cold body. Fuck, this had been a _bad _idea.

The pirate seemed to have found his words again and easily his cockiness just as well as he spoke, "What are you doing here? Missed me, Smoker?"

_He's joking_, Smoker warned himself, just in case.

"I've got new orders." Why the hell did that sound as if he was excusing his absence on Portgas' transport? _He was certainly not!_

"Your brother's grown really popular now, after-" _Oh, just brilliant. _Smoker had almost told him about the incident in Enies Lobby, but caught himself in time.

It wouldn't do any good if Portgas knew. Smoker had learned about it in the context of his new orders, and had finally understood why it was that the Whitebeard pirate had been delivered directly to prison without a visit to the Island of Judgment before. _The irony!_ The idiot's idiot brother had put said island out of commission! He still wondered how the hell the World Government planned to decide on his penalty now but of course, he wouldn't share that information with Portgas.

"Anyway, I had one last thing to do before going back to my real work." _And dammit, stop looking like that, idiot. Bloody gaze gives me nightmares._

"About what happened on Selva Island, the nurse, the flight," _- your calling, your gaze, your smile -_ Smoker paused, averting his eyes from Portgas' face because he felt like the other was observing and judging him in some twisted way.

"Uh, Smoker, you would _believe_ me if I told you?"

Smoker _had _to look back and the warmth that Portgas' now relaxed features radiated was in stark contrast to the freezing air surrounding them. Smoker felt his heart beating too loudly. _Ba-dump, ba-dump._

_What the hell._ The thought hadn't even crossed his mind that he probably _shouldn't _simply believe the pirate's version of the events. Was Portgas really such a good person in his books that Smoker was unable to even consider the possibility the pirate might lie to him? Holy freaking justice, he should probably leave. Now.

But as if the door behind him was firmly welded up by seagull shit and the only possible exit out of the situation lay absurdly in front of him, Smoker stupidly, instead of doing what would have been best, did just the opposite and stepped forward, planting his boots in a firm stance not even an arm length before the pirate's form on the ground.

Said pirate, maybe because he didn't like having Smoker loom so high above him, stood up as well. Portgas' joints cracked loud enough that even Smoker heard it and he grimaced lightly. The seastone chains rustled, as the pirate pulled himself up, levering his weight against them. He straightened his back and was now face to face with his visitor.

"There was a bull of a guy, huge and very strong, and I think he might have been a _Marine_." Portgas' voice was a bit hoarse and not very strong, but it carried well as his face was now so close - much too close for comfort. "You know," his lips curled into that damn trademark smile, "the way he called me pirate and stuff."

Smoker tried to concentrate on the words and not on the breath carrying them that tingled on his skin. He'd have Tashigi do some research about that attacker later. "And you think that guy wanted to kill nurse Elena?"

"Hell, Smoker, it's not what I _think_. It's what I _saw_. It happened in the cell, and he was using a freaking lighter!" Portgas' voice had sped up, and in his fervor he'd unintentionally extended his neck a bit further in Smoker's direction, his face distorted with tension, brows jumped up, lips twitching.

Smoker, however, was _very _aware of that movement. He swallowed quickly, before he focused again on what the other had said, "A lighter to burn her. So he was trying to frame you?"

In all honesty, Smoker had already heard of that from Elena, only that _she _was still thinking the attacking stranger must have been an accomplice to Portgas. Normally, it _would be _hard to believe that there was a third party involved, and that that party was going after some unimportant nurse and not the pirate. Yet for Smoker, it really wasn't. He'd suspected something fishy was going on the whole time.

That was why he was here. Only that was why.

Portgas shrugged his shoulders while his burning, unnerving, gaze still lay on Smoker's face. "I think so."

Smoker pondered stepping back. Their close proximity was almost entirely his own doing since the pirate was chained to the damn wall and couldn't _possibly _retreat. But then again, stepping back would mean that Smoker had _acknowledged _that he was thinking about how close their faces were and that it, in one way or another, bothered him.

His mind jumped back to the conversation, latching onto it as the straw of normalcy in this absurd situation he'd brought himself into. Yes, if he focused on that then it didn't matter how close the pirate's dark eyes, his thin lips, his sharp nose, his frostbitten cheeks were - it would just be a way of conversing without everyone around knowing what they were talking about, right? "So you fought with that guy and fled with Elena?"

Portgas nodded. "We fought, I knocked him out; then I took her. Honestly, I had no clue, well, still don't have any really, what was going on."

A deep breath left Smoker's mouth, almost like sighing. Which, of course, he did _not_. "You saved her."

Portgas' eyes widened, but not from the words. It was, as Smoker now realized, because the air escaped from his lungs blew through the black locks framing the pirate's face, moving the icy strands just a tiny bit and feeling probably hot against the other's cold skin. _Oh shit_.

_You've been thinking about nothing but him for days, you idiot!_ The voice in his head laughed at Smoker, manically. _What did you expect would happen when you come here and he even confirms that he's saved one of your crew? That you wouldn't feel anything?_ Oh, the voice sounded so dangerously much like Hina that Smoker had to put a conscious effort into _not _turning around to make sure that the woman wasn't really there.

It was strangely silent between the two men, the other prisoners' screams of agony and pain reduced to nothing but ambient noise. Portgas' face was right before Smoker's, blue and violet from the cold but still full of childish freckles and his usually cocky eyes - they looked at him, bore through him. It was the same damn knowing gaze the pirate had thrown at him on that island.

Smoker knew he had to get out. Not only because time was almost up. He couldn't stand the idea of thinking any more about why the brat did to him _what _he did because, all things considered, Smoker wasn't entirely stupid to these kinds of things.

Wanting to avoid something wasn't the same as not knowing about it. The simple truth is that he would rather take a bath in acid than start feeling this way for a pirate. _The bad guy! The enemy!_

The next time he would meet Portgas, the guy would probably be back side by side with the rest of Whitebeard's notorious scum, and then, it would be much easier to see him as the man, the pirate, he really was, than it was now, here, where he was just the tortured youth who'd saved Smoker's crew mate. Yes, that was a good, reasonable, explanation. It was most likely the currently strange circumstances that confused Smoker this way. Once he'd made good with the man, he could leave and would never have to look back . . .

"Thank you," he breathed, very quickly but audible for the pirate - and the words still felt like they were going to rot away his tongue as they passed his mouth, "for saving her." Even an idiot like Portgas would know that was not something Smoker would say to just anyone, that he meant it and that it was almost as absurd as biting off his own thumb to say it into a pirate's face.

Before his voice betrayed his carefully constructed facade, Smoker needed to leave. He'd eased his guilty conscience. They were good. _Now_. Whenever Whitebeard's influence catapulted Portgas out of here, he'd start being just as annoying as he'd been before. _Now-_

His feet didn't move fast enough and just then, the pirate deliberately strained his long neck even further, bending his head to the side and moving forward. His lips brushed Smoker's jaw while his hair tickled at the Marine's nose when he approached to whisper in Smoker's ear, "You're warm. Can you come closer?" Portgas' voice was hushed; it was not sensual but it dangerously felt that way to Smoker. The pirate was trying to get some benefit out of his gratitude, right?

"Just a second . . ." The pirate's surprisingly hot breath burned his ear lobe, sending shivers down Smoker's spine. Portgas' skin, on the other hand, was like ice against his own warm cheek, initiating goose bumps that he would all too readily blame on the temperature, and together, the various sensations were almost too much to handle.

In a gesture born out of pure instinct that he was too late to suppress, Smoker's right arm shot up, and his hand fell against the pirate's head who quivered at the touch; his fingers trailed further into the frozen black locks as Smoker stepped forward and leaned into the cold body in front of him, pressing the pirate's face against the crook of his neck in a swift motion. _A second._

Smoker felt the added weight when Portgas buried his face deeply into the fur of his jacket, and his icy nose grazed the skin of his neck just the slightest bit. A dangerous invisible force kept Smoker in place and he felt utterly powerless despite his agonizing, desperate, inner push to step back and leave.

Smoker heard the heavy pounding that pressed his blood through his veins, _faster and faster_, and like a flood strong enough to overrun a concrete barrier, he felt it distinctively - when _something_ inside him shattered.

_Now_, the vicious voice rasped, _you've really clarified it, moron._

(tbc)


End file.
